Chapters View Online
Chapter 1: The Nurse, the Handypony, and the Psychotic Mare. Also a Body.
Doctor Whooves sat under the wide roof of the coffee shop’s small patio, sipping on what he, at first, thought was edible that day. To his left, Screwball was tampering with what he assumed was a cadaver’s heart, and Lyra was watching her warily.
“Screwball, why are you doing that, and should I be concerned?”
Screwball looked up with her patented wide eyed stare, pausing as she poured the vodka through the Coronary artery. Whooves duly noted that her head was transfixed in a lazy eyed stare while she tipped the vodka bottle. “Ssssh. I’m nursing Sandy.”
“I’m not sure why you would be doing that to a heart, first off... a heart doesn’t function that way,” the Doc raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of the black slop before him that was meant to be coffee. At that point, he wasn’t completely sure if the staff could separate coffee from sewage.
“Biology and I have an agreement: I will fucking murder it someday. And then the world of Tetris shall take over.” Screwball threw the vodka bottle away. The bottle flew for a while before lodging itself in a display of muffins across the street. Acting spastically, she grabbed the heart, stuffed it in a bag, stood up, struck a purposeful pose, and said “I am going to eat a dragon.” She walked off leaving the two ponies staring in both astonishment, wonder, and vague curiosity towards her mental state.
“... That mare really needs to see a therapist,” Doc said while finishing off his... drink, did they call it? Perhaps that wind from Screwball’s mad sprint away solidified it.
The two remaining ponies sat and observed the hoof traffic of the early afternoon town. Doc had taken the night-shift at the hospital, Lyra had no job and was currently serving as a handymare about town, and the two of them sat wondering if they were going to make the month’s rent. With a tap of the chin, Hooves stared at his napkin for a bit, wishing he had a pen on him; a quick bit of maths would solve this problem in a snap. Before he could get beyond the second equation in his head, he was suddenly distracted by the crazy-eyed velvetine mare that he warily called a friend running down the street, carrying a flailing sack. Spotting the two still sitting at the table, she raced up, slammed the bag down, and stared at both of them.
“I got the body. Now where’s an oven?” At that exact moment, a small purple claw tore through the sack’s thin membrane. The two continued to stare in horror as Screwball rapidly returned from whatever she did with the heart, and violently slammed the sack on the table three times, dragging away the limp body. “YOU TWO ARE NO HELP. AT ALL. I need a bloody microwave!”
“A purple claw? Lyra, haven’t we seen that bef- oh dear,” Doc paused, thinking back. Quite vivid images of an emerald flame scorching his muzzle and a furious baby dragon stomping off upstairs from the morning’s visit to the library come back to him. “Ohhhhh dear.”
Now, you all might be wondering what a clinically psychotic mare, a part-time nurse, and a handy-pony are doing around town, in the middle of the day, with a dead body. I would explain, but buck you, buck your father, buck everything that you stand for, buck the sun, buck the moon, that’s right Celestia I’m talking about you. I’m a talking voice sitting in the middle of...I have no idea, I’m having a midlife crisis, and I need a drink. Welcome to the average and unusual life of Equestria’s least noted heroes. Where we left off, one of our heroes was dragging off an unconscious body, with mention of needing a microwave. What is a microwave? Don't ask me, just... follow her, I guess.
“Lyra, snap out of it! Now isn’t the time for a monologue!” Doc shouted, grabbing her by the hoof and running off.
“But I’m not done!” She shouted, scrambling to get out of the Doc’s grip. Screwball was harmless! And that omelette was so gooooood!
“Would you two lovebirds silence thyselves! I am trying to fit this harmonica down the toilet! Work damn you!” A random pony shouted from down the street; sure enough, they were indeed jamming a harmonica down the toilet. Doing a quick calculation in his head, Doc determined that the stallion shouting at them would require several hundred more pounds of force in order to do their determined task; the pipe wouldn’t expand wide enough to accept the harmonica on its own! Shut up, that was not perverted in the slightest.
~~~~
Five days ago, somepony was having a flashback to five days ago. That flashback was about the events that would transpire five days later, leading back to this flashback, which involves a pony flashing back to five days ago. This resulted in a time loop that caught Doctor Whooves’ attention, who aptly arrived using his TARDIS to fix the problem. Wait a minute, how do I know this? The question of why the hell am I still floating in a black hole is still haunting me. I’m still trying to figure out of if my wife left me, or if I even had a wife in the first place. Celestia help me, I can’t find any martinis in this place. If there is one thing that I so desperately need at the moment, it’s a martini-
At this exact moment, Screwball took it upon herself to find a way to bring the nameless, disembodied voice a liberating alcoholic beverage. She plotted, planned and kidnapped several Gryphon researchers to assist her. All was for naught however, as she didn’t quite know where this void was in the first place. Damned empirical data testing!
Ahem, back to the story.
~~~~
“Woo, that was a trip,” Doctor Whooves shook his head, eyes still spinning; time travel certainly was a ride, but this particular trip hit several dimensions worth of turbulence. It felt like spinning around in one of those fancy dryers ponies would invent a thousand years from now! Or was it five hundred? Telling time was always so difficult during these jumps; he sometimes lost track of if the planet even had a Sun at points! Slowly waiting for the nausea to subside, he blinked to gain focus, stepping out of the blue box that’s bigger on the inside and into his Three bedroom, two bathroom flat located on the outskirts of Ponyville proper.
Finding the couch, he flopped down onto its comfy and strangely moist surface, making a mental note to drill Screwball on why the couch was wet later. At that exact moment in the time/space big timey-wimey ball of infinite whirling mass, Screwball flew down the stairs and smacked head first into the wall directly in front. She then stood up and moved over to the stallion lying on the couch, his face more a look of concern for the wall, rather than the mare before him.
“Two things actually: one, why is the water bill so high? I swear on Celestia’s gambling addiction, if you’re taking bubble baths again, I will use a plunger on your anus, and two: do you know a safe place to dispose of bodies?” She asked, pulling a puppy dog stare.
“Denouncing the fact that you survived mass concussion, the water bill is so high because every time I come home, the couch appears to be wet. There’s no scent to it, thankfully, so I can only assume it’s related to you. And two, no, I’m not aware of any popular dumping sites for corpses, though I can only guess why you would need such a place,” Doc sighed; every week she’d ask him this, and every week she’d get the same answer. Why did she pester him with this? Sure, it was a nice drop back into reality; stupid questions always were, it reminded him what it meant to be a pony, but this was getting absurd!
Screwball did that unnerving thing where she blinked her eyes separately and slinked off the couch, popping up in the space between the seat cushions beside him. “Rough day at work?”
“My line of work is always rough, Screwball. Coming home to ever-skyrocketing bills and rent costs doesn’t make it any easier,” Doc raised an eyebrow at his room-mate. He still wondered why he and Lyra let her move in, especially after the whole ‘Discord For President’ fiasco; that election was rigged! . Screwball blinked again and furrowed her brows. The emotion was somehow lost on the doctor as her left eye decided the ceiling held some invisible interest and promptly went to investigate as her eyes burned with the passion of a thousand misinformed voters.
“Discord knows how to bring the jobs back, damn you! It was unfair! Literally, like a one hundred vote margin! The system is broke! Viva la Revolucion! " She screamed, jumping up and slamming into the ceiling.
“Ok, I am not getting into a political debate with a possibly-insane mare. I know that election was bad; we don’t even follow a democracy! It’s a court-appointed monarchy, for Celestia’s sake! And Princess Celestia doesn’t have a gambling addiction. She’s addicted to a few things... but that’s neither here nor there,” suddenly, Doc wanted something, he wanted something very bad. Something liquid, a light brown, possibly with clear cubes floating around in it... a sufficiently cold temperature with a mildly destructive liver effect...
That was it! Alcohol! He needed a drink, martini, anything to blur the world and suffocate the noise this mare made. Almost as if the hand of God had slapped her ass and shouted “go get ‘em tiger!” In her ear, Screwball fell back to earth, shook her head and ran to the kitchen. Upon her return, she was holding a rather large glass bottles with the words Deus Equis on the side, the double X lighting up the Doc’s spirits before Screwball tripped, sending the glass bottle hurtling towards Doc’s face. “INCOMING!”
The bottle, as if thrown by a master knife mark-stallion, landed neck first in the Doc’s mouth. Ok, honestly, there were times when this mare impressed him, and this happened to be one of them. The sight of the clear brown liquid lit up his spirits like the control panel of his TARDIS during a three-thousand year triple jump. Ohhh, triple jumps... nope, drink first, time-travel induced nausea later. He spat the bottle out onto the couch, catching it between his hooves, and set to work on the cap. Nearly breaking the neck of the poor glass construct during his war against the stubborn cap, he stared down into the opening.
It was strange, you know? Many ponies say that alcohol is bad for you. The Doc, however, managed to prove nearly every pony wrong with his invincible liver; even the local farm stallion fell on his flank when the doctor managed to drink him under the table ten to one.
Watching the stallion sigh and relax, draining the beer, Screwball jumped up and down, screaming and doing the hammer dance. “Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooh! Hole in one baby! What’chu got Jesus! You owe me a twenty motherbucker! Haha! I knew it!” She screamed up at the ceiling. “And who said alcohol was bad! Well, actually, alcoholism pretty much spells it out but I digress! ” She suddenly turned on her heels and ran up to the Doc, mere inches from his face. Her breath smelled strangely of Peppermint and Antiseptic as she stated; “I think I just found the solution to world hunger.”
Oh me mother of Chardonnay and Brandy, I feel like Hugh Jelly after a friday night featuring Zecora the stripper and a case of Smuckers Strawberry Jelly. And why the buck am I an alchoholic? What did I do, have sex with a baby? I’m a bloody floating voice in a bloody big void! I feel like a dildo getting lost in Nurse Redheart’s gaping black hole that she calls a vag. And why do I know this, what the buck is happening? Why can I not have a drink? Is this real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a lands- WHY DO I KNOW BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY???
Before the narrator could take up any more time from this story, the camera suddenly shifted from the infinite blackness of the void between dimensions, becoming a blinding white slur of giggling, screams, and general sounds of discontent. Also a few moans, but we aren’t going there. Quickly, the scene returned to the simple flat belonging to Lyra, Doctor Whooves, who calls himself Time Turner as an alias, and Screwball, during a bout of excessive drinking brought on by her mad rambling.
Screwball meanwhile had wrangled up a six pack from Celestia knows where and was currently getting shit-faced on the couch beside Doc. “And she was sitting there screaming 'shut up I cannot express to you how much I do not care. Eat the chicken from my hat.' I mean, alcohol's like life, only it kills you faster,” she rambled, “I mean, life and alcohol are basically the same thing. You wake up with a splitting headache crying your eyeballs out. You go around for hours and hours and YEARS on end asking ponies what the buck happened and what you should do. You cry your eyeballs out at the sheer stupidity that is your life.
“You go and find a vice, which in this case is alcohol. You drink till you’re thinking about fucking your cousin and then you black out and the whole process repeats,” she finished, her tone dropping from irritatingly high to didactic, composed, and if the words coming out of her mouth didn’t sound like Michelle Bachmann giving a coherent and sensible speech, then it would’ve been perfectly normal.
“Ahem... first off, that was a rather good-” his sentence interrupted itself with a rather rude burp; never before had his stomach been so rude to a guest. She was a guest, wasn’t she? She could be his mother for all he cared, “Analogy about life.”
“Apapap!” She interrupted, pointing to him. “That burp right there was the mid-life crisis.”
How is it that you know exactly what I’m going through and proceed to make the worst possible analogy to my situation? Oh! Goody! I can imagine my martinis! THERE IS A GOD. Well, obviously there was a god seeing as how Celestia basically hacked the world and made herself a princess. That’s beside the point, what was the point? Buck the point. I am celebrating the death of the point here, and none of you can stop me!
The narrator was promptly smacked on the back of the head by the universe’s largest asteroid, resulting in a very minor concussion. It disturbed his rambling long enough, however, to get the camera back to something important.
This important thing happened to be the morning after the drinking bout between Screwball and the Doc, both of them lying on the floor. Alcohol smeared the floor and walls, some drops still falling off the ceiling. It may have been bathwater actually, but that was beside the point here. Whooves sat up and rubbed his forehead, the first signs of a hangover striking the back of his mind like a stick against a drum, and he looked over to the mare at his right. His mind suddenly started moving through possible scenarios that would include the following criteria:
Mare on the floor.
Stallion on the floor.
Both were smashed the night before.
It was past eight PM when the drinking started.
The two were talking about life.
A blurry image of the mare collapsing on his shoulder.
He suddenly reeled in fear, and went wide-eyed, as is typical of a shocked, life-shattering event. Screwball grumbled to life at that exact moment, no doubt jolted by the stallion’s sudden recoil.
“Nnngah. For the last time woman, I told you, I didn’t want the bloody muffins. I don’t like muffins, I don’t eat muffins, and they smell and taste like burning tires going through menopause,” she squinted, and rapidly blinked her eyes, trying in vain to clear her swimming head, “Ooh, please don’t tell me what I think just happened happened with the thing in my thing and the thing where we both moan and fake that we’re enjoying this when we’re actually wasting away and doing nothing productive with our lives.” She groaned
Whooves promptly put a hoof over her mouth to stop her from continuing, blinking with a furrowed brow, “I’m hoping that we really didn’t do that, yes... though I can’t quite remember. W-We were alone here, right?” He smiled a very disturbed smile; oh please Celestia, let the two souls in the room have been the only ones there... he sniffed the air, trying to get some hint as to what happened. The only thing that triggered any form of response in his brain was the smell of Deus Equis; that glorious, golden gold- wait, focus, Whooves! “I-I don’t... smell anything, at least.”
“Really? Because I smell fear and regret.” She sniffed in the Doc’s direction. “And a bad Cologne.”
“Shut up! It was expensive,” he quickly adds under his breath, “Granted that was two hundred years ago,” and quickly turns back to the mare beside him, “But that’s not the point! Just look for something that might be some hint as to what we think happened! We eliminate that, and we can just carry on with our morning as if nothing happened.”
At that moment, as if the god of time and space had decided that a cosmic dick-slap was in order, Lyra walked in. The mare and stallion who had spent the last twelve hours in that room, hearing the door close, immediately cursed every single god, goddess, deity, semi-god, demi-god, and hobo on the street they could think of for their currently-approaching bad luck.
Unfortunately, every goddess and deity had simultaneously heard and taken offense with their rampant and belligerent cursing, and they immediately conspired to make Lyra instantly on her period. Legends have been written of her emotional swings during her period. At once, the lime green mare stopped at the foyer near the door, stared at the two on the ground, sniffed the air, and deadpanned. She then promptly went upstairs and, and shut the door with holy purpose. Soon after, screaming as loud as a Cesarean birth without anesthesia could be heard as the silver-maned unicorn let loose a torrent of curses that made the couple’s cursing below look like a teenager just taking his first baby steps into a world of swearing.
“AND WHY?! WHY IN THE NAME OF CELESTIA’S CONCEALED FIVE FOOT LONG RAPE-BONER MUST I ENDURE THIS?! ” She stopped suddenly, turning to a small pink slip on her desk. Taking it, she turned it over and squinted, putting on her reading glasses and looking over every line.
“Hey... umm... Doc. One last thing I forgot to tell you that I should have, and will probably be our death sentence now.”
“Lyra’s on her period, isn’t she?” Doc let out with a level tone, his calm voice betraying the maelstrom of horrible chaos in his mind.
“Umm...yeah...that...and our water’s getting shut off. We defaulted. Oh, and I left the notice in Lyra’s room.” She finished, getting up and diving behind the couch. Doctor Whooves, in the interest of preserving his life, followed the mare.
At that precise, almost perfectly executed point in time and space, a Rhesus monkey was having tea in a top hat and red monocle. But in other news, Lyra snapped.
“OUR WATER... OUR WATER. OUR WATER IS GETTING SHUT OFF! WHOOVES. WHOOVES! WHOOVES!! ” She thundered down the steps, screaming his name along the way. As soon as she reached the base, she grabbed the poor stallion and practically lifted him off the ground with the strength of a thousand mares just finding out their stallion had cheated on them. “WHOOVES. PAYMENT. HOW NOT MAKE? HOW? HOW? HOW!? HOW!? ” She continued repeating, rage and spittle flying everywhere.
“I swear! I don't know what happened! Spare me!” Doc pleaded with the psychotic mare, staring into the red pits of rage that were her once-yellow eyes. He couldn’t understand then how a mare could become so enraged, so spitefully furious that you could cook an egg on her head, but he knew one thing. One thing so painfully certain that it burned a black crater on the surface of his brain.
Never get married, and if you do, never cheat on your mare. You will die. You will die in the most painful way possible, and the last thing you see will be the eyes of the Devil. Whooves made a final prayer to the Princesses as he anticipated the end of his life.
“Hold on a tic, whose job was it to make the payments this month?” Pipped up Screwball, putting a thoughtful hoof to her chin. Both stallion and mare turned to the wayward mare. They both blinked, and suddenly a light bulb lit above their heads.
“YOURS!”
“YOURS!”
“Oh. Right... um...”
Lyra tossed Whooves to the side, him landing on his flank against the wall with a thud. She stalked, no, creeped up to the crazy mare behind the couch, and glared at her dead in the eyes. If looks could kill, Lyra, using that glare, would have murdered the entire population of Ponyville, and given the Black Plague to half the citizens of Canterlot. Strangely, Screwball was smiling into space.
Her current thoughts: “I’m bucked. I’m bucked. I’m bucked. She’s going to kill me. She’s going to kill me and rape my corpse. Will I still be alive to feel the rape? How long does the body stay warm after the death? How will I die? Will she snap my neck or take out my heart? If she snaps my neck I won’t feel it but I doubt it’d feel nice in the first place. Does rape ever feel nice? I doubt rape feels nice. Didn't I get raped once? No that was Big Mac. I still don’t understand how I raped him. I don’t even have a penis. He looked like he was enjoying it though, so is it still rape even when they’re enjoy-”
The fully ramblomatic thoughts of the psychopathic mare were cut off as the supply of oxygen to her brain was suddenly cut off. This strange phenomenon was due to Lyra grabbing her throat and wringing her like she was her long lost squeaky toy. Strangely, Screwball actually did squeak when Lyra thrashed her. Whooves’ shouts went into her mind as a muddled crowd of sounds; sounded kind of like Vinyl’s nightclub, only using really bad music, and the crowd was made of zombie ponies.
Did zombies go to nightclubs? Wooo, pretty lights... wait, white dots in vision... that wasn’t good, was it? A quick tackle by Whooves brought the world back into focus as the liberating flow of oxygen to the brain was re-established. It was kind of like a supply line of trucks finally being thrown along the road during a tornado, all landing perfectly at their destinations. And they were all made of oxygen.
“Lyra! Calm down!” Whooves shouted, him and Lyra wrestling on the couch. He finally got her into a pinned-down position, one of her forelegs behind her back with the other stretched out in front. Her hind legs were spread by Whooves’ own, and he used his weight to hold her down. He calmly assumed this would look strange to the other mare, but that didn’t matter; lives were at stake! They always were when a mare was on her period and in the middle of a mood-swinging rampage!
Sure enough, the other mare did find this strange. She also wanted to join in, but the currently-spinning world managed to duplicate. This made standing up near impossible, let alone walking, or joining in the wrestling fun. She cursed the gods a final time before falling onto her back, letting the ceiling make funny shapes for her.
“Get off me, Whooves! Lemme strangle that stupid mare for forgetting to pay! I need to make her pay! Then I’ll pay the utility bill with her HEAD!” Lyra struggled under the stallion who dared to separate her from her target.
“Nopony’s being paid with heads here! Just calm down! We’ll make the money somehow, and get the water bill paid properly!” Whooves grunted; despite the mare below him being smaller, she certainly had a lot of fight in her!
“Then where’d the money go!? Did she just forget to pay, or did she go off and spend it again!?”
“Screwball, answer her please!”
Right there. Right there was the moment that Whooves would look back upon and laugh hysterically at how much of an idiot he was.
“Alcohol,” Screwball drowsily answered. The mare and stallion stopped struggling against each other, both turning their heads back and staring at the legs of Screwball. Whooves’ brain stopped processing everything it did, and just... locked. His brain locked like a gridlock in Manehatten, and he couldn’t find any form of kickstart for it.
Lyra however bristled slightly, eyes going wider than they had before. “... What?”
“Allllllcohoooooool... it was fun! Spent all of last night drinking and talking with Whooves!” Screwball giggled, smiling as the clouds on the ceiling turned into clowns and dogs.
“Wait, that was the smell in here?!”
“So it wasn’t the smell of coitus!? Oh, thank Luna! ” Whooves nearly collapsed in relief.
“I don’t know! It smells like rubbing alcohol in here!” Lyra tossed Whooves off her back and got up, glaring at Screwball. “You’re making this money back, and you’re paying the bill. So help me Celestia if you screw this up...”
“Doooon’t worry. It’s allll in the bag. Like a cat! Or a tiger... maybe a panther?” Screwball squinted, a circus show playing out in front of her. It was always so hard to identify the species of cat coming out of that massive brown bag, especially when it wouldn’t settle on a single species! It kept changing!
“Alright,” Lyra declared, gradually reclaiming control of her rational thought. “We need to do something about this. And by ‘we,’ I mean Screwball. She’s the reason we’re in this mess, so she’s the one who’s gonna fix it. At the very least, she needs to be put to work.”
“I can agree with that. We’ll all need to pitch in, however, in order to cover rent along with the bill. I’ll see if I can get Screwball a job... I’ve had my eyes on a part-time position at the hospital, actually. Rather good at medicine; had to take care of my share of scrapes and bruises. Any ideas on what you’ll do, Lyra?” Whooves raised an eyebrow, setting himself down on the couch. “And erm... sorry for putting you in that compromising position, it’s the only hold I know.”
“I’m trying to forget it happened,” Lyra replied, then began to consider Whooves’s question. The first thing to come to mind was to simply dust off her lyre and find a nice street corner to perform on. But being a street performer wasn’t even CLOSE to being a well-paying job, and as much as she’d love to pick it back up, she literally couldn’t afford relying on it right now. Plus, she had little faith in these two mental cases finding anything substantial, so she’d have to find a decent job of her own if she even wanted to consider pursuing the music angle on the side.
Why’re you all ignoring me? I’m having difficulties here! Granted I actually have my martini now, but still, difficulties! Difficulties that need attention! I got hit in the head by an asteroid, for God’s sake! I did not lie about this void being empty! I just didn’t notice a flying SPACE ROCK was here! And I didn’t know I was in the path! Shut up! I NEED ANOTHER DRINK!!
As the universe bent and shook under the shout of the narrator, the camera panned back to the three ponies meeting up in their flat. For some reason, three hours had passed, though it was assumed the narrator managed to waste that much time with his drunken rambling about World War II. Whooves sat on his couch, staring at the floor, while Screwball swing around on the ceiling fan; why did they have a ceiling fan, anyway? It took a unicorn to keep the damned thing spinning. Lyra sat in front of the couch, spinning the fan above her with gentle shoves of her magic, and rubbed her forehead.
“Well, I got an interview at the hospital... seems they needed more nurses on staff, and my medical knowledge brought me straight on the staff. It’s not a lot, but if I save my bits, I should be able to make due,” Whooves nodded, inwardly sulking; there goes his weekly trips to the bar, “Any success on your end, Lyra?”
“Yes and no,” Lyra replied. “On the one hoof, I couldn’t get anything solid or with a consistent paycheck. You have no damn idea how hard it is to get a job in three hours, and I have no idea how in Celestia’s name YOU managed it.
“On the other hoof,” she continued, a small smile breaching her face, “I settled on two side-projects. I’m thinking of going out as a handymare for hire as the more financially supportive option, and playing my lyre on a street corner or a public park or something as a bit of self-indulgence.”
“Good idea, considering your special talent. I’ve been signing off at the hospital for a while now, so it was only a matter of time. As for Screwball, I’m still looking, though I can’t imagine her holding down a job on her own,” Whooves frowned, looking up at the mare on the fan. She’s still giggling to herself?
“No worries, I’ve got it alllll in the bag! We’ll have that money in no time, with extra!” Screwball smiled to herself, a big toothy grin; her plan was foolproof! All she needed was two hundred feet of wire cable, a dragon, and a paper bag! But where would she get the cable at this hour? She crossed her forelegs and put a hoof to her chin, spitting in the face of gravity for a few moments before falling onto her flank with a healthy thud.
“I’m pretty sure I should be scared of what she has in mind,” Lyra remarked, not trusting that grin one bit.
“So am I, but we all have our part to play in this. Tomorrow’s my first day, as is yours, I assume, Lyra. I suppose we’ll just have to leave Screwball to her machinations,” Whooves gritted his teeth slightly; he knew he was going to regret saying that, but they didn’t have much choice in the matter. Working as a nurse was going to detract a lot of time, even as a part-time job.
And so, the three ponies agreed to meet the next afternoon, after their respective first days ended. The hospital was taking in a few patients, work around the town was always buzzing, and there were plenty of opportunities for a crazy mare to make a living.
Would things go as expected for this group? Would Whooves have a pleasent first day and make a good amount of bits? Would Lyra be overworked? And just what is Screwball planning?
"And why do you all keep ignoring me!? Huh? Put up the title? Alright, hang on..."
With a final gulp of his martini, a mighty clap was made by the narrator’s voice, and the void between dimensions exploded with light, a bright flare left behind from the supernova: A neon sign with a single title written on it, three smiling faces lit up under it as constellations in the darkness.
“It’s Always Funny In Ponyville!”
Chapter 2: Doctor Doctor!
When the morning came, Doc wasn’t exactly expecting where he was lying to be where he’d wake up in the morning; on the floor next to Screwball. He sniffed the air again, scoured his memories, even tapped a few sections of his pelvis, but nothing seemed wrong. He furrowed his brow, spotting several empty bottles of Deus Equis; of course, it always came back to the drink. What he wasn’t expecting however, was that god awful noise coming from the upstairs. Sighing from the headache/nausea one-two punch that came from a hangover.
“What in Celestia’s good name is that?” He asked, his throat was still sore from whatever had happened last night so the question came out as a whisper. Still, the noise continued, a high-pitched two note caterwaul with a single beat of silence before the noise started up again. In the back of the hurricane-scrambled wreckage that was Whooves’ mind, the survivors began cranking the wheel-operated back-up generators for his thoughts.
Loud noise coming from upstairs. Two noted, sounding strangely like an alarm clock. Did we ever buy an alarm clock?
Yes.
When was that?
Two weeks ago.
Why?
Because Lyra needed it to wake up at 5 in the morning.
Okay, but she doesn’t work at 5 A.M anymore. Why is it still going off?
Because she gave it to you so you would wake up at 7.
Why would I need to wake at 7 in the morning?
Because you took the day shift from Monday to Wednesday. And today’s Tuesday.
Oh bollocks.
Well put, Doctor. Start running.
And run he did, though the world constantly shifting thirty degrees to the right didn’t help him any. After a stumble, fall, a few broken... things that he’d no doubt have to clean up later, and the straightening of fancy bow tie, he was ready to go. At least, he hoped he was.
Despite his adventures teaching him much about medicine, psychology, and some nuclear physics on the side, he was always nervous on that very first day. The first day of using the TARDIS, first day encountering aliens, first day negotiating on No Man’s Land between Discord and Celestia, he’d done a lot... but the first time always got him.
Hopefully the nausea would fall away by the time he got to work...
Sadly, like most of his hopes concerning finding a bigger flat, or finding a proper mental institute that could handle Screwball for longer than five minutes, he was denied satisfaction as his stomach still felt like a trapeze act during the circus. A very bad one with plenty of falling off the rope, spinning around it, and- oh dear, getting dizzy...
With a quick shake of the head, he brought his vision back into focus, or whatever muddled haze could be called ‘focus’. He approached the counter and swept his mane back, taking a deep breath; first impressions, Whooves. These are your new colleagues... don’t make yourself look like an idiot.
“Hello, Doctor,” The nurse behind the desk spoke with an almost angelic radiance; Nurse Redheart, a surprisingly resilient and skilled medical practitioner... it made Whooves wonder why she wasn’t Doctor Redheart, the rumors about her certainly spoke volumes of her practice.
“H-Hello, Miss Redheart. I’m here for my first shift,” Whooves put on his best smile, which to him seemed more like a broken stallion’s smirk as he begs for money. Please, Celestia, don’t let that be reality...
The warm smile returned by the good nurse brightened his spirits a bit.
“Right, of course. Your scrubs are in the locker room down the hall, get suited up and head over to Dr. Synapse’s office.”
“Doctor Synapse? Sounds like somepony who operates on brains...”
“Well, yes. He’s a neurologist” Redheart blinked, raising an eyebrow; was that common knowledge?
“R-Right, of course... um, sorry, I’ll get suited up right away,” Whooves quickly nodded and trotted off through the double doors, Redheart’s concerned eyes burrowing into the back of his head; “don’t be nervous don’t be nervous don’t be nervous... this is no different than anything you’ve done, and you’ve handled far worse, Whooves. Focus!”
When he finally arrived in Doctor Synapse’s rather simple office, the silence of the walk and dressing up had unnerved the poor stallion even more; a stallion left to his thoughts on the first day of the job, never good.
The office barely looked the part to the brown nurse now walking in, and his eyes found nothing of particular interest, besides the three medical degrees resting behind the bearded stallion at his desk. “I suppose you don’t knock when you go into a pony’s house?”
Whooves turned, staring at the open door. He didn’t knock, did he? Just... walked right in. Magnificent work, you bleeding idiot!
“M-My apologies, Doctor Synapse. I’m-”
“The new nurse on staff, I’m aware. What is your experience?”
“Er, five years in..um...”
The good Doctor. A whirlwind force to be reckoned with. Bringer of peace, savior of Equestria, and fabled Oncoming Storm stood with his jaw very slightly agape. Doctor Synapse stopped and eyed the chestnut stallion worriedly as the only clock in the room audibly clicked. Synapse decided to finally break the tension after a few minutes of statue like silence, clearing his throat and bringing Whooves’ files into his direct line of sight. What he read nearly gave the old stallion a heart attack.
“Mister.....Doctor. It says here that you had a stellar internship with our sister in Trottingham, have served two years within the Ponies of Goodwill Abroad nonprofit organization, and have been recruited as the Royal physician. I’ve...my word, I’ve even got a personal referral from Princess Celestia?!” He uttered the last segment with confusion, glancing down at the sheet in front of him in case he’d misread. But no, the altered insignia of the royal sisters stared right back at him. The old symbol had been the outline of a phoenix against a rising sun. Since Princess Luna had been reinstated as the diarch of Equestria however, it’d undergone a change. The sun, which had taken up most of the whole canvas or paper, had been sidelined. The new symbol was of the sun, already in high noon position with a rising crescent moon below it. The wings of both a phoenix and raven shot out from their respective positions left and right of the sun-moon combo. Questioningly, the old stallion turned to his inferior who was nervously tapping one of his hooves on the carpeting. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this is fake.” The old stated, obviously not buying the outstanding record and referral. Turning back to Whooves, he eyed the brown stallion up and down, finally setting on a staring contest. His beady little eyes searching deep into Whooves’ soul for an agonizing minute before the old stallion spoke, breaking out into a huge grin. “Welcome to Ponyville General sonny.”
Whooves let out a whopping big sigh and whipped his forehead.
“Hahaha! I’m just kiddin’ sonny. Me myself, I think you’re an imposter. Seeing as how you have all the right paperwork though, I’ll let it slide. Besides, the first five weeks should test whether you’re a honest to Celestia medical professional or a wannabe.” The old stallion got up, leaving a shocked Whooves virtually paralyzed on his hooves. Before he left the office though, the neurologist turned back “this town gets its fair share of brutal accidents, so I’ll be watching ya very closely. Happy first day!” And with that juxtaposition firmly thrown and sanded into the face of his newest employee, he left. Whistling a merry tune on the way out.
Well, that certainly didn’t go as expected. The narrator took a moment to sip on his martini. I wonder how the ladies are doing?
For maybe the first time in her life, Lyra felt at peace. The swinging of a hammer against nails, a metal plate slowly bending itself into place under each smash, a hole covering up over somepony’s house. A nice rhythm, a good, loud beat, not unlike the music she plays for fun. Of course, her lyre didn’t sound like somepony using a piece of steel as a bucking bag, but it was nice all the same. Without Screwball to mess up her day with another inane tangent, or Whooves around to drink away their money, she was able to go through her thoughts. After a good three hours of work, she stepped back, carefully keeping balance.
“Let’s see... job here was fifty bits for a repair job Bon wanted. Not a bad fix. Next up is Carrot Top and her rain-catcher, I think... bad leak? Then the Cakes want some work done on their walls, and-”
“Hey! I got some lemonade! Thirsty?” A voice from below called. Lyra merely grimaced and whipped her brow with a hoof.
“Look, its lemonade, it’s just lemonade. It’ll be fine right? ‘Course that wasn’t my original plan of ‘going, doing the job, grabbing the money, and getting out in one piece,’ but it works.” She mentally assessed, nodding to herself and stepping down off the ladder to the roof. Below, Bon bon was precariously balancing a silver tray on her back while looking up at the work-mare, her neck crooked at a strange angle. “Yeah, thanks. So, got the roof all patched up for ya.” Lyra started, taking the lemonade and downing it one go. The mare was anxious to get back to work. Sensing this, and with almost perfect feminine intuition, Bon bon called out. Right as Lyra began back up the ladder.
“Hey! Wow wow! Don’tcha wanna stay and chat for a bit? ‘Mean its hot out. Come on Lyra, a little chat won’t hurt. To this, Lyra simply deadpanned. “THAT’S WHAT YOU SAID AT OUR BREAK-UP WOMAN!” She wanted to scream. Instead however, she opted for a soft sigh as she slowly made her way down the ladder.
“Kay. So whadya wanna talk about?”
In the black void that was deep space, or at least what the being within thought it to be, the Narrator was positively laughing his ass off. “Oh this is positively rich! Looks like my little ponies all have some dirty laaaundrrry~” He called out as femininely as possible, taking the martini and downing it before frowning at the empty glass. “I wonder if we have vodka, or gin. Well, maybe not gin. Gin is more of a paint thinner than anything else,” He mumbled before turning around, or he WOULD have turned around if he wasn’t a spectral anomaly floating in a fixed point within... somewhere. Ah fuck it, he’s a classy alcoholic, on with the story! Ya protestant fuck-buckets
And with that, the camera shifted, with a flair and a backflip, back to the point in space it previously occupied before that no good narrator dragged it away. It stared at Lyra as if she were the most interesting thing in the universe. Why? Because she was!
The chat was going on, as expected, between Lyra and Bon Bon. One was having a touch of fun, while the other simply wanted to leave. Leave very quickly. What was the cause of her apprehension? Well, one would need to ask one of them, and they would likely say it was the other’s fault. A string of drunken nights, one too many emotional breakdowns, and maybe a sweaty evening or two with another suitor did it, but they would always point the accusatory hoof to the other mare. Or it would be both hooves pointed squarely at each other. And on some nights... well, that’s a story for a different time.
Currently however, there were two individuals that took it upon themselves - since the hospital was, at the best of times, critically understaffed - to nurse and heal the wounded and sick citizens of Ponyville. Sadly however, it’d been a slow day at the office, and slow days meant one thing, and one thing only for Redheart, though speaking of such a thing outside her office was... well, from a social standpoint, unacceptable. From a professional standpoint? It could simply be called medical examination, since she didn’t have her own doctor. And that’s what she constantly said it was whenever somepony came knocking, though luckily, she always chose the right time for her personal moments.
Though, of course, there’d always be that one new colt that comes knocking at the wrong time... could it really be considered a bad thing though? Her bedside manner was top notch, which left a lot of frustration when that one problematic patient managed to make her day bad, so one thing was made clear to nearly the entire staff of the hospital, advice they readily take:
Never interrupt Redheart in her office.
Too bad Whooves never heard this advice, as he approached the one door in the hospital many gave a wide berth, marked with a red-crossed warning surrounded by four arrow-sharp hearts.
“Don’t worry, Whooves... you’ve followed your duties to the letter. So what if you spilled soup on Synapse? He brushed it off... after a lecture... yeah, this won’t go awry at all. You’re simply delivering forms to Nurse Redheart. Put on a smile, darn it!”
The nervous stallion knocked on the door, inciting a quick jump from somepony inside, the crashing of a few things, before a swift jog to the door. It opened a crack, revealing, quite honestly, the most wonderful diamonds the Doctor had ever seen... wait, were they moving? He blinked a few times, correcting his rose-colored vision, seeing that they were eyes. What mare could eyes like that possibly belong to?
He pulled his sight away, looking up to see a pink scruff that tried, quite badly, to disguise itself as a mane, a small nurse’s cap barely visible behind it. A quick cough drew his eyes back down to the mouth, the eyes pulling him back up. His eyes wandered, well, more so took in the sights than anything. Diamond irises that shimmered in the light of the hospital hall, a mane of silken pink, matted after hours of caring for others, a mouth that spoke so many truths and seemed so- dear Celestia I’m going crazy...
Meanwhile
Screwball sighed and found herself walking up to the familiar redbrick building. “Stay strong Screwy. Make momma proud.” She recited to herself over and over as she tapped the wooden door. To say that she wasn’t looking forward to the meeting would be the understatement of the century. But, a job was a job. The door opened with the creak of hinges that hadn’t been oiled or looked at in well over a decade. Instantly, Screwball found herself coughing as the smell threatened to overpower her. It was something along the lines of honeyed cider, pine wood, sassafras, and spiced rum. She blinked once, trying to clear the tears that came with the smell when a familiar voice piped up from the doorway. The owner, a petite dark grape colored mare with an equally dark purple mane.
“Heya Screwy! Back in town? Damn, I thought I saw you slinkin’ around here you little rascal you!” As soon as her eyes cleared, the unstable mare found herself suffering from an acute, albeit familiar sensation: asphyxiation. The cause being the near iron-maiden like grip of the town’s resident Barhopper/owner extraordinaire: Berry Punch. “So, how’s life been treating ya girl? Hold up, where are my manners? Come in! Come in! We have a lot of catching up to do!” Nearly shouted Berry as she herded the unfortunate mare through the doorway. What she didn’t catch however, was Screwball muttering “Yup... sadly,” under her breath.
Back in the cold space, the narrator, almighty god of alliterations, allusions, infrastructure, climax, and storytelling, was getting shit-faced like nobody’s business. “This makes absolu-absulu-cthulhu? Ah fuck it. This makes some great T.V!” He boomed before knocking back a slug of Vodka and falling on his ass laughing.
~~~~~~~
“And so me and Carrot top were like; you can’t eat all ‘dose pancakes! Ya gonna have a stomach ache!” Bon bon laughed at her own joke. Currently, both herself and Lyra were situated on the plush couch in the living room. Lyra with an expression that could melt titanium, and Bon bon’s with one that could pass for that of an affable pony from the big city with lots of income to spend and lots of free time to kill. Most of which was spent boring others to tears.
“I thought she wanted to be a comedian? A pirate joke about pancakes? Nnnngh, I’m gonna have an aneurysm at this rate,” Lyra gratingly though, much like her teeth behind her lips. Many nights were spent with this mare, and nothing bothered her more than the decline of Bon Bon’s sense of humor; she used to crack jokes like the best of them, and be woken up in the night by Lyra’s insane laughter.
Now? It was hard not to burst out in laughter of how bad the jokes were. “So’s how’d you like it?” Asked Bon Bon, totally oblivious to her partner’s total discomfort. Her thick Manehattan accent grinding on Lyra’s nerves like Luna grinded on Celestia’s.
“Oh shoot, she’s asking for an opinion... quick, think of something believable!” Lyra racked her thoughts for any form of opinion that didn’t roll off the tongue like sludge, and didn’t feel like driving a stake through her spine.
Nothing came to mind. Better take the risk!
“I-It was good... good, yeah. Ha ha ha,” Lyra weakly chuckled; oh Celestia, it was hard to lie. No wonder Applejack was such a good lie detector. As if completely unaware to the near total aura of death oozing off of Lyra, Bon Bon proceeded to tell another mind numbing joke.
“So, so, so. I heard this from a friend, and don’t tell anypony ‘cuz I wanna suprise everyone; but picture this. Two diamond dogs walk into a bar. They sit across and order two drafts when all of a sudden; they ask the bartender ‘why the long face?’ And the bartender was a pony!” She burst out laughing at this, as if it was the funniest joke ever told.
Lyra... had nothing. Seriously, she had nothing. The joke was so... something, her mind just blanked. Cleansed. She could not think a thing. A twitch came from her right eye, thankfully out of sight of her humorless friend, but nothing would come to mind. A few hoofsteps echoed in her empty head and a crank started turning, somepony mumbling about not enough pay, and her mind kicked back into gear. Her first response? Complete nausea, held down by utter willpower.
Second response?
“I... well... um...”
Stuttering, apparently. Off to a great start, Lyra!
Bonbon took notice almost immediately, frowning before a small light bulb went off in her head. “Hold on hold on hold on. Lyra” she pronounced it Loy-ra. “Ya gotta hear me out on this one. So there was a clown, and he was all burned up when he walked into a bar. Somepony took notice, and they asked. “What happened to you?” He said “there was a fire at the circus. It was in-tents!” She nearly died laughing, falling to the ground with all hooves flailing in the air. She didn’t even notice Lyra as she laughed to her little heart’s content
“Admittedly, that was so bad it was good. Maybe I can fake a laugh?”
Lyra broke her twitchy frown into a grin, and she tried a few laughs. Good, they’re easy enough to be real. It wasn’t a bad joke... it didn’t remind her of the good days, but it was a good try. “And now for the kicker: Why did the chicken not cross the road?” Bonbon asked, a wide shit-eating grin plastered all over her face and up to her ears.
“I-I’m not sure... why didn’t the chicken c-cross the road?” Lyra said, silently saying a prayer to every Goddess she could think of. “Oh, Luna’s moon, guide me by your holy starlight... I don’t think I’m going to survive...”
With that same grin, Bonbon answered: “It would have been a fowl proceeding.”
And that was it. Something just snapped in Lyra’s head, and her nose immediately spewed a bit of blood. Her pupils shrank, and every bit of frustration and anger broke out of its black prison and splattered all over the floor of her mind like a horrible sewage explosion in uptown Canterlot. Absolute chaos.
“Hey Lyra? You okay sugar?” Bonbon asked, putting a hoof to Lyra’s forehead only to come away with her hoof steaming. “Ohmigosh! You’re burning up! Hold on, I’ll get the low-fat non-calorie, completely all natural ice.” And with that, she got up, coming back with water and placing it on her ex’s head. “You know, I heard from a friend who heard from her uncle’s brother’s friend’s sister’s ex-wife that worked in a Water’s sanitation department that they put all sorts of things in the water! You should be careful! I mean, all those nasty things in the water like minerals and fluoride. Isn’t that the stuff they put in toothpaste? Yuck. You know I switched to a new toothpaste after Thunderlane said they put all sorts of drugs and germ killers in the toothpaste! I mean it’s totally abrasive to your teeth now-” Bonbon never got to finish that monologue as a sudden hoof stuffed her face-hole.
What pony could possibly describe what Lyra’s face looked like right now? That deep scowl, those tiny pupils, the strangely-shifting irises; she was a picture of Nightmare Moon a thousand years ago, if anypony could remember that far back. She figured if Princess Celestia saw her right now, she would be banished ‘for the sake of the country’, though right now, ‘for the sake of the country’ pointed to ending this ‘comedian’s life. This was worse than her period, for Celestia’s sake!
Her mouth formed words, her tongue working in tandem as they would with regular speech, but all that came out were a few enraged grunts. Her teeth ground together so hard her jaw muscles tore a hole in her cheek, and blood leaked out in a thin stream. She just couldn’t take her glare off that mare...
As if in a defensive measure to prevent an unholy bloody massacre in the room, Lyra’s mind fell back to when she would look at the target of bloodshed before her with admiration. How did things go so wrong? Every time they looked at each other, they couldn’t pull away, only it was with thoughts of what would happen at night than with thoughts of where to dump the corpse.
So many nights spent together; fancy dinners, a nice bed, a couple bottles of bubbly, and whatever happened after that was an incomprehensible blur of pink, blue, and that beautiful sapphire blue. Lyra couldn’t even remember what triggered it all, or whether the relationship was doomed from the start... all she knew is it caused a lot of pain, and made a lot of local headlines.
Her hoof fell away, that skull-crushing glare still plaguing her face. There was nothing left there... just hate. Hate for the declined sense of humor, hate for the changes in her behavior, hate for how Bon tried to control the relationship and change everything over to ‘natural’, no matter what the doctors said... the mare nearly killed herself with that Celestia-forsaken muck she called toothpaste!
Not a word could be said, not a word could barely be formed in that typhoon of rage. It took everything Lyra had not to just take her hoof, slam it in Bon’s mouth, and keep pushing until she heard something snap, then just push further for good measure. Again, with her feminine knack of knowing exactly what was happening, Bonbon furrowed her brows. For once, the stupid grin was gone, replaced by true worry. She put a hoof to Lyra’s chest as the lime mare’s hoof fell away. And in that soft voice that had becalmed Lyra, that had whispered in her ear the the very first night the two had met, she said; “you okay Lyra? Feeling down in the dumps? Oh! I know! You need another joke!”
“Leave. Leave now. Leave now or forever be locked in jail, because in five seconds I’m going to break this mare’s neck. Break it and never stop twisting until her head comes off.”
Unpleasant images of blood, screaming, and crazed laughter rushed through Lyra’s mind like a rampage of cows through the Ponyville streets... extremely unpleasant images. Lyra blinked, her scowl falling away... she shook as that black slime in her mind bended into some twisted image of herself, staring at her from behind Bon.
Fear. She was scared. Scared of what could’ve happened, scared of what will happen if Bon tells another joke.
“I-I... I have to go!” She stuttered, jumping off the couch and running to the door, “I really have to go!”
“Aww! and I was just about to tell another chicken joke! Oh oh oh oh! How about this one! Why did the chicken-”
~~~~~~~~
Whooves glanced at the clock, another furtive glance. “Oh sweet Celestia. Please. Please. I know you’re having trouble with... near... everything... that isn’t pony related? Whatever, please, please let this last hour pass quickly, please.” He pleaded.
It had been only an hour ago when the stallion knocked on that cursed door and met those eyes. An hour ago when his mind was focused on work, rather than the mare before him. Thirty minutes when his mind was focused on those eyes, rather than lower down. Ten minutes when she didn’t bloody notice his staring.
And now... now it’s just an hour. An hour of tension that he hadn’t felt since negotiating a surrender between two planets. Sweat rolled down his face, over the burning welt left behind by Redheart’s swift slap, but his eyes simply wouldn’t leave hers. Was it fear of another slap? Was it some scrap of honor he still held within him to stare a mare in the eyes when she speaks to you? Or was it simply his imagination distracting him?
He couldn’t deny it, the mare before him was... pure. Attractive, yet unmarred by stallions in the past. That pink mane, bedridden before, had been organized back into a swift ledge over her eyes, a bun tied tightly behind her head. The nurse’s cap sat proudly upon her head, though tilted from the slap he’d received before.
Why did things have to start this way? Why did she have to bring him into her office to discuss the paperwork, papers he’d only had to deliver!? He was stuck there, forehooves in front of him, pushed further together than was comfortable just because he couldn’t stop his bloody mind! Stop wandering, Redheart! Stop moaning! Just bloody STOP!
“Is there a problem, Whooves?” Redheart asked, obviously enjoying the new stallion’s distress.
”Oh, cruel Princesses lording over Fate, why must you buck with me like this!?” , he thought in the creation of a hasty response, “N-N-No p-problem, N-Nurse Redheart! No p-problem at all!”
”Excellent work hiding it, you numbskull! She’s already suspicious, you’re making it worse by talking to her!”
“It seems to me” she started walking over with a slight sway to her hips. “That you’re having....a little bit of a problem. Thankfully, it’s something I can help with.” She moved up right next to Whooves, grabbing his crotch in one hoof and whisperied into his ear. Her other hoof traced lazy circles over his racing heart, a few giggles from the mare only serving to rush more blood to his cheeks and pelvis.
”Stop stop stop stop stop stop, stop dreaming, stop dreaming, stop dr- oh dear Celestia she’s really doing it. STOP STOP ST- stop freaking out Whooves! This is good! This is good, oh dear Celestia thi- SHUT UP, THIS IS BAD, VERY BAD! This isn’t professional in the slightest! J-Just push her away! But then she’ll hate you, any chance of a relationship will vanish like ashes after a fire! I DON’T CARE, MY JOB IS ON THE LINE! Buck your job, the mare of your dreams is, right now, giving you her ‘special bedside manner’, and you’re acting like you don’t swing for mares!” The mental war carried on in Whooves’ mind, each side warring for victory, and for a possible ‘happy ending’ that, when calculated by the stallion’s subconscious, would last about ten point eight five seconds. No, she wasn’t that good, it’s just things wouldn’t last longer than that before somepony bucked down the door and fired them both!
“I think both you and I have had enough of this little game. What’s say we end it here and move to a room? I know the perfect place. It’s at the back of the hospital, completely secluded. Just me, you, and a whole lot of lube.”
“You have no idea how good that sounds- that’s because it’s BAD, you idiot! Stop letting your sex drive take over! But you know it’s so easy to just let go, Doc! C’mon, show HER your ‘bedside manner’- I haven’t got any! That’s the point! Now go get her, tiger! Curse you, curse you to the black depths of Tartarus!”
“Well erm...” Whooves cleared his throat, looking back into the diamonds, the target of his affection. Though the mental war was waged with futility... he did have a point; if he denied her now, all notion of a relationship would vanish. Maybe taking the chance wouldn’t be that bad?
Maybe... Fate was such a strong word... but just maybe this was meant to happen?
“What do you have in mind... my dear?” Please don’t blow up please don’t blow up everything’s on the line here don’t be a trap don’t be a trap no whammies no whammies no whammies STOP!
Grinning like a madmare, Redheart sped away. She quickly returned with a two foot long, very large, male horse genetalia strap on. This was met with a few quick blinks, a furrow of the brow, and a focused glare.
“... So, she’s going to play it that way? Now it’s a war, my dear... and Doctor Whooves takes no prisoners.” He thought, and a demonic smirk joined the expression of determination on his face, which was quickly returned by Redheart’s own near-psychotic smile. The door was slammed shut behind her as she slowly walked up.
The staff of Ponyville General would, in about half an hour, have a brand new reason to avoid Redheart’s office. The reason would depend on who won this coming war.
~~~~~~~
“Holy- j-just what?! WHY’D YOU CUT IT OFF THERE?! Damn Authors, always leaving me hanging during a good moment! C’mon, what’s happening!?” A quick zip of the pants echoed through the empty space. “Wait, what was that? Never mind, get back to that scene! Camera, don’t disappoint me this time! Send me back! I wanna see Whooves score!”
As if some by divine phallic block, the camera shifted back over to Screwball, now feeling rather unlike her serious self in the past. A couple bottles lay tipped over next to her head, currently making intimate relations with the table, and a puddle of drool dripped off the edge. The table, as is expected, felt rather uncomfortable by this show of affection, but rolled with it as it didn’t have a choice.
Since it was a table. And tables can’t make choices. “I don’t- I can’t- I FEEL.” Screwball stated to nothing in particular, jumping up on the table and quickly falling off as the laws of inebriation simply stated “nope” and forced her back down, knocking her head painfully against the table. Berry Punch merely held her gut, falling over and laughing hard. The bar was still empty, with about half an hour till rush hour, or ‘till everyone with a job got off work. Fortunately, they all came to her bar to unload the stresses of life and the world; by slowly poisoning themselves to death.
“Hey, hey Screwy. C’mere for a sec, would’ya?” Asked Berry after a good five minutes of laughter. During this time, Screwball had recovered from her fall and Berry had recovered from laughing her ass out. “Look, look. I got a new brew I’ve been wanting to test on somepony. See, it’s not exactly EACA - Equestrian Alcohol Consumption Agency, just so we’re clear - approved on the grounds that it’s... well... to put it simply, it’s a drug as well as a drink. Now, I need somepony to go against that. And that’s where you come in.” She stated, giving Screwball a light punch on the shoulder.
“So so so so so, I’m going to...test that there?” Asked Screwball, pointing with a waving hoof to the bottle of green and strangely vaporous liquid in the shot glass in front of her.
“Yup! And I want you to down a whole three bottles afterwards! Sound good?”
Normally, with the news that an illegal alcoholic beverage with the ability to produce hallucinations and possibly kill her, Screwball would have at least been a tad bit apprehensive before trying it. Now however, with the power of being drunker than a skunk off Stalliongrad vodka, she simply saluted, took the three bottles all weighing in at around 20 Oz, and put all three necks in her mouth. With that brave slug of every drop, she sealed whatever fate was likely banging on the bars of her mental prison of liquid courage.
Watching with a mixture of admiration, shock, and mild disgust overpowered by the first two feelings. After a long silence with the only sound being Screwball’s Epiglottis going back and forth as it tried to ingest the liquid in copious quantities, Berry spoke. “Soooo.....how’re you feeling Screwy?”
As soon as all three bottles were finished, the mare let go. As all three shattered after their quick negotiation of surrender with the cement floor, the mare catatonically stared into the wall on the opposite side of the bar. “Screwy? C’mon talk to me here. You okay?” Berry tapped Screwball on the leg where she stood, completely upright on two hindlegs. Screwball slowly, very slowly turned towards Berry punch, and uttered the fateful words: “THE FUTURE. IS IN THE PAST. ONWARDS AOSHIMA!”
Sadly, without her faithful Aoshima being there in body as well as spirit, she fell forward onto her face. That however, didn’t even begin to slow the mare down as she flipped onto her face, and fish-flopped to the window where she slammed into the glass and miraculously landed on her hooves. She rushed back to Berry with eyes the size of pin-needles and demanded “WHERE ARE THEY? WHERE ARE THE SMURFS WOMAN. I KNOW YOU HAVE THEM. THE LITTLE GREEN MEN TOLD ME!” She proceeded to flail around some more before running upstairs and jumping onto the cheap chandelier. Unfortunately however, that’s when Lyra decided to walk in, hoping to drown her sorrows in her favorite poison. As well all knew it would, the chandelier, tasked with holding Screwball’s weight, decided it had had enough of this shit, and promptly snapped, sending the mare who was in half swing, bounding across the room.
Right into Lyra.
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Chapter 3: Expect Nothing Less Than Critical Conditions!
“See you tomorrow Scootaloo!” Shouted Sweetie Belle as the two parted ways. Already the sun had begun to set as the three amigos headed off in their separate directions. They had stayed after-school for detention after all three of them had arrived late. How’d they end up being late? It involved a wagon, tree sap, and another one of Scootaloo’s crazy ideas. Oh, and a broken window; their classroom’s, to be exact.
“Yeah! See ya later Sweets!” Replied Scootaloo, waving behind. Applebloom had already dropped off seeing as how the farm was the closest building to the Schoolhouse. Scootaloo was just a couple blocks down from Sweetie belle, so more often than not, the two would find themselves walking home together. Scootaloo didn’t mind too much however. The walk was nice, what always greeted her at home; was not. Not even several feet from the small redbrick building however, she could already hear it. The evening evening fare. Opening the door, she was instantly assailed by the rank smell of unwashed bodies, booze, greasy food, and obnoxious laughter and yelling. Threading through the crowd like a pro, she reached the small walk up at the back of the building near the bar. Acting as fast as possible, she reached for the door, yanked it open, and was about to run up when she heard something peculiar.
“Scootsie! Good! Ya made it in time! Good!” Shouted her mother above the din. Onstage, something odd was happening. Screwball was sitting on a stool, strumming what appeared to be a crescent guitar. She was nearly shouting above the band as it did its best to keep up with the hectic beat. Everyone was hollering and screaming. The bar was at it’s usual madness, only it seemed to be escalating as they sang along with her angry lyrics.
Just because I come from Roma camp on the hill they put me in a school for mentally ill. Oppa, oppa didly daa! All their lies about Roma!
Scootaloo wormed her way behind the bar as the stallion onstage howled at full volume, more as a purging than anything else.
You love our music, but you hate our guts! I know you still want me to ride the back of the bus!
Oddly enough, she found herself tapping along to the music. It held some sort of odd charm. If she had known what the word was, she might’ve even said it was cathartic.
Opportunity for me is a red carpet to hell! But I’m a roma wunderkind I’m gonna break the spell! Break the spell! Break the spell! I’m gonna break the spell!
Soon enough, she found herself screaming along to the music, thoroughly swept up in it’s despotic insanity.
Like a pro, I pack your dance floor but you want me to come in and exit through back door! O-pa. Opa diddlydaa!
Now the nighttime crowd had become thoroughly immersed in the diasporic music. Screwball herself didn’t even acknowledge the crowd’s existence as she strummed along with the rest of the band. The stallion on stage was wild-eyed, wild-maned, and passionate and crazed beyond all shadows of reasonable doubt.
Though the music was booming and chaotic, and the room was filled with the stomping of ponies jumping in rhythm, a single mare at the bar Scootaloo’s attention; a mint green mare, staring into her drink. With a last look to the band, she walked over to the bar and hopped up onto one of the stools. Much of the song repeated itself so the little sanguine filly turned away, but before she did, she caught the last parts to the vocals:
We came from Rajasthan as non-militant travelers. The time in Byzantium made us even more advanced. And at the end I gotta say To conclude our little study. One thing about them gypsies, they never bored nobody!"
“Another drink, Berry...” the mare said, knocking her drink back in a single go. Another glass filled with brown liquid slid across the counter, the mare at the end squinting her eyes. Her tongue was still stuck out in concentration, foreleg outstretched as the drink collided with the green mare’s own hoof, “Thanks.” Scootaloo jerked a hoof to the mare screaming her head off onstage.
“Friend of yours?” She asked, or rather hollered above the din. Lyra turned to the mare now shouting something in a different language and throwing herself into the crowd. Grimacing, she simply tapped the table, Scootaloo understood immediately and poured a bit more into the shot-glass.
“Unfortunately.” Muttered the lime mare. Scootaloo tapped her chin. The light velvet mare looked so familiar. Then again, everpony in town looked familiar, it was just a matter of placing names to faces. Lyra followed her gaze and raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Do you know her?” She asked, sipping lightly on the amber liquid. Scootaloo shook her head.
“No. But she’s so familiar...feels like I know her.” Scootaloo sighed as Berry finally emerged. Shoving and pushing through the crowd holding Screwball and the wild-eyed stallion.
“Give it up for our resident Romanis!” She jumped up on the bar and helped the both of them up, holding their hooves up as the crowd positively went nuts below. “DRINKS ARE ON THE HOUSE TONIGHT!” She hollered once more before escorting the two out for a brief break. Lyra watched the group go, a strange tingling sensation had begun in her gut.
“How long ago did Screwball move in again?”
When Screwball did move in, Lyra’s life wasn’t a whole lot better. The Doctor was still gathering up as much money as he could, and Lyra was still playing out on the street for a spare coin from those that walked by. How long ago was that... two years? Hard to imagine how time flies when you live with a psychotic mare and an alcoholic.
Their first meeting wasn’t exactly a happy one, by any extent. It was raining, in hindsight, that rain was probably a sign, and Lyra was wandering around the market, trudging through the mud to get to the bakery. All the sales stalls had closed up after the storm warning was put out, and most ponies thought it smart to stay inside for the day.
And they were right to; the wind was pretty brutal, but the day’s shopping had to be done. Whooves had stuck the job on her, his flimsy reasoning being she was a unicorn and he wasn’t.
Stupid Doctor... he knows full well he could be doing this instead of me. I got the groceries yesterday too! Then again, he is cleaning up around the flat... wait, flat? It’s appartment, not... that darn Trottingham accent is getting to me.
She grumbled in the wind as the rain pounded down around her. It was a good thing she had a coat and hood, otherwise she’d probably be dead of a cold, or simply drowning the mud that just seemed to get deeper as she went along. She looked up to see her objective ahead, and a sigh of relief accompanied the halfway point of her journey; just gotta walk back n-
Lyra stopped in the street, brow furrowed. Did she hear something? Her ears swivelled, trying to pick the sound up again. After a few moments of waiting, she finally decided that she was going insane, and that a cold was the cause. She took a few steps before hearing the sound again. Just what was that?
She sighed and searched for the sound again. It sounded almost like a guitar...but it sounded so...sad. Ducking and moving from awning to awning, she found herself on a little side street. The hustle bustle of the market seemed to stop in this little sanctuary as all the ponies stopped to listen. A lone mare was sitting on a crate. She was sitting upright with one of her back-legs folded over the other. A crescent guitar rested in her lap as an old stallion by her side began singing.
What was here, now is gone.
Up and down like everyone...
Walked the earth, in lonesome cry
But when the sun comes up
When the sun comes uuuup...
It will be on your side,
it will be on your side.
Another sound joined in the music, a smooth sound compared to the beat of the guitar; a viola, worn strings still singing to the crowd as best it can. Lyra fell to the music, bobbing to the beat with the rest of the crowd. A chorus lit before the next verse, moving to the beat of the instruments.
To the sound of wheels,
all demons die...
Rays of joy, they multiiiply.
Harmonyyyy, you will be my bride,
but when the sun comes up,
I’ll let out last breath...
And slumber softly...
Into
The
Death!
The chorus picked back up, every string hitting harder, and Lyra added her tapping hoof to the magic of the beat. Every guitar strum was met with a stomp from the crowd, everyone following to the music. Another pony, a little filly by the looks of it, pulled out a little harmonica and joined the solemn song part way through the verse.
My half-breed, oooodessey,
Your orphan! Proooophecy,
Our destinyyyy, we will not hide!
When the sun comes up,
when the sun comes uuuup,
it will be on your side...
it will be on, our, side!
The chorus picked back up, adding to the melody of woes. Lyra found herself slowing down. The velvet mare in the front had a sombrero pulled low over her face, but from what she could see, tears were reflecting in the lamplight. Lyra slowly put down the bags as the rain drenched the long faced group. Some of the older men wore ponchos, and even the filly had a small, albeit it battered and old umbrella. The only one in the group who had nothing but an old mothballed cloak. When the purple mare finally lifted her head, Lyra gasped. She looked so young..yet so old. There were parenthesis around her mouth as she pursed her lip. Barely visible crows-feet around her eyes and frown lines around her forehead. Her eyes held a thousand-yard stare that seemed to settle on Lyra who simply looked on in amazement as they all lamented their woes.
When the sun comes up...
I’ll let out last breeeeath...
and I’ll slumber softly,
Inntooo
the
death...
“What type of hell does one have to go through to sing something like this?” Thought Lyra in a state of half shock, half sadness. There was anger. Anger and a sense of resignation here. If she let her thoughts wander, she could almost find the group on a trail in the eye of the setting sun, padding along slowly in a covered caravan. And indeed, even as she looked on, behind them was a covered Caravan. A couple of the crates must have been taken down to provide the group seating since there was none. Not a single pony spoke as the group continued..
She understood how music conveyed words, but music like this... this simply conveyed dreams and wishes that seemed to never come true, a crippling reality where everything was out of reach. She sniffed as the song ended, wiping her eyes, the final notes falling off like the dying breaths of an old pony. Bits were cast from the crowd to the ponies on the mediocre stage, and they all bowed, gladly accepting the tribute to their art.
With a few abject sniffs and sobs, the crowd broke up and headed home, hoods being pulled up to beat back the rain. A single pony was left behind, still looking to the guitarist. She paused as she placed her guitar gently in its case, looking back with her hoof on the lid. She blinked and raised an eyebrow, breaking Lyra out of her trance with a shake of the mint unicorn’s head.
“Can I help you?” She asked, closing the lid of her case.
“U-Um... I just wanted to say... that was a wonderful song,” Lyra scuffed the mud, “I’ve never heard something like it...”
“That is good thing.” the mare looked back to her guitar case, wiping some of the rain off the top. She adjusted her sombrero and stared off into space as the other ponies packed up the caravan.
“W-Well... uh...” Lyra gritted her teeth, trying to think of something to say, “I suppose that’s right... do you travel a lot?”
“Yes... we never stop for long, either.”
“Why not?”
“It is what we do. We are Roma. No place likes Roma.” The words came reluctantly to her as the purple mare sat there. “They...those ponies. They do not listen long da? Is too painful for them.”
“Ah... I understand where you’re coming from, it’s hard to make a living in music,” Lyra looked to her Cutie Mark, grimacing slightly at the ivory strings; it really was difficult to make it in the music world...
“Mhm.”
Silence once again, besides the pounding of the rain.
“This was nice chat. What is your name?”
“Lyra. Lyra Heartstrings... and... what’s your name?”
“Screwball, Screwball Hijinx.”
“Ah... that is good name...”
“... Shouldn’t you be home? Storm is not going to clear just for you.”
“Well, yeah... it’s just... have you tried settling down somewhere? Travelling so much...”
The mare smirked, looking over at Lyra. “Do not feel pity for us. We are Roma. We need no pity.”
“W-What? No, no! It’s just-”
“It is fine. Most towns we go to, they cannot hold us for long. We are too....how you say...passionate for them.”
“Do you need a place to stay?”
Screwball blinked, staring over at Lyra. “This is... strange offer.”
“W-Well, uh... it’s rare that I meet another musician... it’d be terrible to let them live like-”
“Like what?” The purple mare’s brow fell, her sombrero tipping off to the side as she turned to face Lyra.
“Well...”
“Like rat?”
“W-What? No!”
Her brow fell further.
“I-I didn’t mean any insult, I’m sorry... it’s just...”
“Come, say it green one. We live in horrible condition.”
Lyra mumbled something incoherent, looking off to the side.
“No?”
“Well... it’s just, I have friends here... and in this kind of rain, nopony should be left outside. Maybe you and your friends should stay over in town for the night?”
Screwball blinked, her furrowed brow rising slightly. It was pretty cold out... having a solid roof over her head would be great.
“Da... I will talk to them.”
“Of course, take your time. I live in the Bone Oak Apartments down the street, come to room two o’ four. I’ll be waiting!” Lyra smiled, picking up her bag. It was a rough start, but she managed to get a band to stay over in town. Their music was great... they had a lot to learn from each other, she was certain. The very thought of trading secrets about guitar and lyre playing set her heart aflutter; so exciting!
She practically bounced over to Sugarcube Corner, acting as if the rain was never even there, and as if she wasn’t getting mud all over her belly. She was way too happy to let such things keep her down now!
Aw, well isn’t that just peaches and plums? It appears our resident volcano-waiting-to-blow has a heart! Anyways, let us head back! I have a feeling this sad little story’s not even halfway over.
Lyra simply shook her head as the tiny purple maned filly made her way out back, most likely sick to her stomach at the behavior of the adults in the room. As she watched the filly retreat however, a strange sensation seemed to overtake her. Starting in her gut, it worked her way up her stomach and into her heart before setting fire to her brain.
Deja Vu. A very strong sense of Deja vu. Maybe it was her purple mane, but there was something about that little pegasus. Something very.....familiar.
Before her brain could make any kind of relation, somepony stumbled in through the front door. They made a beeline for the counter, crashed into a stool, and their chin hit the counter like a pegasus out of a freefall. The brown, swept-back mane was matted a bit, the eyes were drowsy, and the mouth was caught in a neutral area between a scowl and a smile. His eyes simply stared forward to the rows upon rows of alcohol, and his mouth finally chose a side.
“I’ll take a brandy on the rocks... make it quick, please,” the Trottingham accent was unmistakable, as if mane and coat weren’t; the Doctor. Turning to her flatmate, Lyra smirked.
“Tough night?” She asked leering playfully. Onstage, Screwball prepared herself to jump into the waiting hooves of the crowd below as she partook in the age old tradition of crowd surfing.
“In a way, yes. I just need a solid drink at the moment, Lyra,” Whooves blinked, groaning a bit. Down at the end of the counter, Berry leaned on the polished wood surface and took aim, lining up her shot. With a good shove, she planted the stout drink right at the tip of Whooves’ snout, proving once more why she’s the Equestrian Bar Shot Champion.
Too bad the contest was banned a year ago due to the judges getting trashed beforehand...
“Appreciated, miss,” The stallion pushed himself upright and hooved the drink, before taking it and washing his throat down with the thin, blissful liquid.
It was right about this time that Screwball crowd surfed to the seat next to Whooves and ordered “una tequila por favor, senorita.” Whooves’ furrowed his brow and looked over at her, glass still up to his lips, the last of the drink trickling into his waiting maw. “I picked up a couple things here and there, what did you expect?” Screwball shrugged and grabbed the small shot glass, downing it in one go and slamming it back down. “Another please. Actually, scratch that, I’d like five right off the ba-” during her order, Scootaloo had walked in, and as Lyra and Whooves watched, Screwball seemed to pause mid order and watch her. “Um, Berry, a word with you in private please.” She stated very flatly, leaning over the bar and grabbing her counterpart by the scruff of the neck and roughly shoving her to the door, leaping over the bar and following her out the staff exit as Lyra and Whooves watched the two go; Whooves with apprehension, and Lyra with curiosity.
“What’s gotten into her?” Asked the little orange filly, refilling the brown earth pony’s drink.
“Obliged, little miss,” Whooves stated with a nod, swirling the ice around in his drink. He’d never truly appreciated the bar scene, simply looking into your drink before sending it down its one-way trip to the blood stream, but now it seemed appropriate to simply stare and think. The amber waves crashed against the beach of his sub-conscious, viscous yet palatable, and he looked on in thought, “To answer your question, however... I haven’t seen her act like that before. Lyra?” The lime mare shook her head in a negative. Whooves quirked his mouth up, returning his eyes to his drink; things just kept piling up, didn’t they? First Redheart, now Screwball...
“Mares.” He thought glumly, taking a long draught of his liquid spirit before sucking in another lungful of air in preparation of what he was about to do. He turned his eyes to the door and looked on, two silhouettes perceived through the deep-blue window. With a sigh, he got off the stool and walked around the counter, every step becoming slower as he approached the door.
“Okay Screwbuh-” Whooves stopped mid sentence as the two mares sat in the dust, obvious signs of emotional distress were visible. Both had tears streaming down their faces, Screwball was sporting a snotty nose while Berry had red eyes. The bartending mare simply got up and rubbed her eyes.
“Oh don’t mind us. ‘Just a bit of a girl’s chat is all.” She joked.
“... I’d protest, but I’m worried I may spark something, and asking about how you are seems stupid at the moment... shall I simply leave you two alone?” Whooves inquired, hoof still to the door at his side. Screwball whipped her nose and got up.
“No. No, call Lyra out if you can. It’s about time we talked about my end of the bargain.” She stated, shaking her mane to free it of dirt and dust. After a moment of consideration for what may occur with three mares, two emotionally distraught ones at that, in the same room, he reluctantly nodded his head. He turned his head back to the counter and moved himself to prop the door against his back, then gestured for Lyra to come in.
“Somepony called?” She asked, swinging in through the doorway. Screwball straightened up and cleared her throat, gesturing for Berry Punch to leave, a request that was quickly followed. After the mare’s hesitant exit and a cursory nod from Whooves, the stallion moved into the room and the door swung shut. It wasn’t ensured privacy, but it would have to do.
“Alright, I think it’s time we got this out of the way.” Started Screwball. Turning to Lyra, she said “Lyra, to this day, I thank you for entertaining me and my group, even if they...have moved on. I will always thank Celestia that we met on that rainy day. That out of the way, you have serious anger management issues that I’m starting to think are affecting your ability to work.” Screwball had lost her ramblomatic, silly tone, opting instead for a barren heartbroken one. “And you, Whooves, you’ve been hitting the bottle a little too hard these past couple weeks, and that too is bothering me.” She took a deep breath. “And I myself...well...I have my own demons. Ones I thought buried in my closet years ago. Guess they came back, and in a big way.” She sighed again, rubbing her temples. “Now, I’m not saying this out of the blue, or lightly for that matter. I’ve been watching you all, and....and...I...I just can’t let this happen to my friends. To my family. I can’t have them falling apart in their own little worlds of sadness, blocking themselves from the outside world to suffer by themselves. I’m not going to stand by as it happens. Not again, and not in this lifetime.” She firmly stated.
The Doctor looked on at Screwball, nary a blink crossing his features, “Hmm... so you wanted to have a chat about the problems we all have? Unexpected, though I’m rather certain the sky is falling from the tone you’ve taken,” he scuffed the floor with a hoof, “My problem with the bottle isn’t based around depression, rather simply coping... either that, or habit.”
“This is really random though, even for you, Screwball. What’s up?” Lyra blinked, raising her eyebrow. Addressing her aggression issues right now would dig up a lot of skeletons she’d prefer to leave in her own closet... but they’d come out eventually.
Screwball took a deep, deep breath and closed her eyes. “Well... just now... I had a very brief, but meaningful chat... with an old, old friend of mine.” She paused to sniffle and wipe her eyes. “And..she told me something very, very important.” She twisted her hooves around each other and averted her gaze. “It was around...ten or so years ago. I was in a..a very low point in my life. Some ponies made me do things that I didn’t want to do, but I had to do them to keep my fa-band from starving.” She exhaled sharply. Lyra took her side and wrapped a hoof around her neck as she continued. “Unfortunately, one thing led to another...and I....I got pregnant. It was..it was a little filly.” Screwball, true to her name, screwed shut her eyes and continued. Her voice grew huskier and her wording seemed to slip. A distinguishable accent formed on her tongue, dulling and distorting her words. “I..I left the little one with a friend’s family here in Ponyville.” She stopped, opening her eyes to stare at the ceiling. “Celestia.....she was just a two day old when I left her, squealing. Her eyes weren’t even open yet.”
Lyra pulled her close into a quiet hug as Whooves averted his eyes, both obviously troubled by the story. Lyra seemed to slowly rock back and forth with Screwball in her hooves, putting her head on hers as the two sat in silence for a while.
“This is a difficult story to hear, Screwball... I’m sorry you had to go through such a thing,” the Doctor whispered, turning his eyes back to the mare, “I’m glad Lyra managed to convince you to stay, however... I dread to think of what would have happened, had she not.”
Screwball stared off into space for a little while before answering. “I... would have been dead, thousands of miles from any place I’ve called home.” She stated plainly, almost as if it was a fact. “You may or may not know this, but outside of Equestria’s borders is a hostile and cruel world. It’s not made for ponies out there Doctor, and trust me when I say that would’ve been the end of me.”
Sadly, he fully understood what kind of threats could be out there, especially so close to home. He simply sighed, lowering his eyes to the floor, “Then... let us be happy that you two met that day, and that you and your band were able to stay. I’m still rather amazed how Lyra convinced the local hotel owner to grant your band food and board for so long... but I shan’t press that. It’s good to get such a thing of one’s chest, Screwball... and I feel you chose the right ponies to open up to.”
Screwball merely smiled at this.
“Thank you, but I am not the only pony in the world with such a sad story. And every pony suffers in different ways; I suffered visibly, but others suffer silently. And to each, one must grant an ear, for while we perceive our pain as only ours, it is our families and our sisters and our brothers. It is облигационный, bonded.” She smiled, surprising the two with her insight.
“Rather... sagely of you, Screwball. I suppose we all hide things from the world, whether they could benefit it or not,” Whooves raised his brow, finally blinking again. Celestia, his eyes felt dry... a quick rub and a bout of swift blinking returned his eyes from their desert condition, and he continued listening.
“Sadly however, our suffering isn’t going to end with just us telling each other what we’ve gone through. We still have to pay the bill, and it’s only a couple weeks away, which is why I have a proposition.” She cleared her throat. “Berry Punch mentioned it to me during our...spirited conversation, a way to pay our debts. Blacksmiths in Canterlot are well known for their alloys, capable of heavy duty abuse and light weights, they stand out as a beacon of excellence. Amongst the metals they use however, there is one that stands,prized above all: Dragon scale.” Screwball stopped, letting the implications of her words sink in.
Whooves’ eyes shot wide in disbelief as Lyra broke off from Screwball. “That’s absurd!” The Doc started, taking a step forward, “That’s absolute insanity! You can’t honestly be suggesting we do that?! Celestia forbid you do it on your own!” Screwball jumped up.
“I know for a fact that both you and Lyra aren’t getting your paydays till two weeks,are over , unfortunately, they’re going to be a day after our rent is due, and you know our landlady. So!” At once, she returned to her peppy, cheerful, psychotic happiness “I propose we steal Spike. You know, the baby dragon? And tear off just a couple of his scales, not too many! Just enough to cover our rent for this month! I swear, that’s all I’m going to do, just a couple of scales!”
Whooves’ eye twitched as his jaw fell slack. Is this mare insane?! Wait... that’s redundant, ok, does she not care for her own status in society?! If we’re caught in a foalnapping case, over a dragon, then we can pretty much kiss of scraping-by lives goodbye! C’mon, Whooves, think of an alternative! Think!!!
His analytical brain ran through every scenario Screwball could find herself in, most involving legitimate work while others involved criminal acts; every single one turned up squat, either due to a mistake on her part, some stupid trip up, or somepony finding out. She wasn’t suited for anything! His eye twitched again as his brain finally gave up on looking for a way out; she had no skills that could go towards a legitimate job, and... well, she was right about rent being due a day before paychecks were handed out.
There was one way out of the foalnapping case though...
“Screwball, a-about Spike... what if we simply extracted the scales with his permission?” Whooves smiled sheepishly, praying that it was enough; he wasn’t completely sure who this ‘Spike’ fellow even was...
“Pft, please. Asking him voluntarily would be like asking you to rip off your own horseshoes.” She laughed. “Besides, if we sedate him, we can easily pluck em’ without him feeling the pain! It’ll be that much easier, plus, we’ll have the scales and have him back for dinner!” She smiles hopefully, eyes shining in that puppy dog way when she wanted something badly.
“Oh, yes, let’s foalnap a dragon that we know nothing about. That certainly won’t alert the authorities. And why are we discussing this here, anyway? What about Berry? Won’t she be linked to this bloody conspiracy?” Whooves brought his voice down to a hiss.
“Nah, Berry’s fine with it, even came up with a cover to distract whatsherface if she notices he’s missing.” She finished proudly.
This is absurd. This is insane. This is crazy. Stupid. Idiotic. Way out of left field. Bollocks. BOLLOCKS. BOLLOCKS!
“I... must ask what this cover could be,” Whooves blinked, a smile growing on his face as he forced himself onto his flank. His slightly-calm face betrayed the whirlwind of psychosis currently inhabiting the space where his brain used to be.
“Simple really, get her tipsy. Twilight’s been asking Berry about some alcohol for some experimentation or something. If Berry convinced Twilight to...sample some of her most potent brew, well... let’s just say she’ll be out till the next day.” Screwball answered, cackling as she opened, and then leapt out the window. “Catch you guys later!” She called before plummeting into the thorn bushes outside of the window. Whooves and Lyra looked out the window, seeing Screwball flail among the deathbed of spikes, thorns, and assorted other sharp things.
“Lyra, we should stop her,” The stallion, now terrified by the thought of Royal Guard soldiers kicking down the door to their flat and storming the place, moved to the door back into the bar. Lyra sat staring at the broken window for another five minutes, frozen solid. The only thought in her mind being along the lines of ‘This. This is why we can’t have nice things.’ Sighing, the green mare stood up and walked out shuffling.
“In the morning. I have work to do. Carrot Top’s going to destroy me since I never got around to making her repairs, and I’m expecting a warrant for my arrest in the next couple days anyway.”
As she stepped out into the bar area, she realized Whooves was long gone; probably off chasing after Screwball. She looked around at the bar, full of happy, red-faced patrons laughing and shouting at each other, some even singing while swinging their mugs around. Well, at least somepony’s day was going right, right? She let herself smile while making her way to the door, not wanting to set her storm cloud over anypony else’s head; her burden, not anypony else’s.
The sip of another martini, who knows what number this was, echoed through the black void. ”Ok, this is getting pretty good now. I’m smashed, and I’m reading about a mare who’s planning to kidnap this Spike fella. Exciting!” The voice exclaimed, taking another sip of his drink. He swished it around for taste while he contemplated how he had a mouth, ”Wonder how the others’re doing in this? Lotta ponies out there just waiting to be bothered by this plot! Oh, what about that chick, the one in the nurse’s cap?” The voice chuckled in excitement; he wasn’t allowed to watch that, but no one was gonna stop him from seeing how that encounter ended! He wasn’t about to say what it was like, for fear of his bosses catching wind. Did he have bosses? He wasn’t gonna risk it either way... bosses had a tendency to pop up when someone’s lips are loose.
”Onwards, dear Camera! Ooo wait a minute, actually, go back to that one scene with Doc and the Nurse.”
The Camera sat still.
”Oh come on! I know you want to see it to, you’re about as perverted as I am.”
The Camera still wouldn’t move.
”Oh don’t give me that. I told you already, that was one time. One time! And we went potholing in Croatia. I wasn't even looking at her! She was thrusting her ass into my eyesight. No! No it’s not the same thing! One’s voluntary and the other’s statutory rape! No. No. No! You’re not listening! Yes, I know rape is bad but- Would you just listen!? It could basically equate to the same thing. Rape sticks with you. Well, sometimes literally, but that’s not the point. The point is it’s something sexual that you don’t want happening to you. Yes, it’s relevant to this argument! Oh just shut up and let me finish would you? Anyway, that was the same thing. No! No she was not attractive enough to warrant it as voluntary! Her ass looked like the faces of two fat cocaine fiends glued together! Oh that’s not cruel. Cruel is calling her mother a drunk and her father a whore. Yes this relates to an argument featuring a single scene with- oh just shut up and go back to it already.”
The Narrator and Camera sat there, staring at each other. Non-existent eyes stared blankly into the non-existent lens of the Camera, never daring to blink; this stare would convince the Camera to bend to the Narrator’s will, it would break the machine’s spirit, and it would follow the Narrator’s orders to the letter.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the infinite multiverse, far more interesting things were happening in almost-as-dark places. Well, almost-as-dark would be an overestimation; there was a lamp in the corner of the room giving some illumination, and the full moon was up in the single, curtained window... made the room look eerie.
What looked even more eerie was the white-coated mare sitting on her bed, staring out towards the full moon through her curtains. The light glinted against her irises as she squinted, a search through her mind turning up blurs and mumbles... what happened at work? She was relaxing in her office chair after another therapy session with two rather resistant patients, daydreaming about her last stallion, when a rather rude knock came to her door.
She remembered being rather bothered by such an intrusion... wasn’t it Doctor Synapse coming to disturb her again? No... it was that new colt, the one who started work that day. The familiar disgust from remembering his face welled up in the mare’s gut, but she kept it down, the sickness coming through in a grimace aimed at the celestial body before her. That blasted colt came to disturb her... papers in his mouth, an apologetic look in his wandering eyes, it was violating the way he looked at her.
She thought it’d be fun to bring him in and play with him... what a game it was, until her memory went blank.
It was exciting, charged, hot . He was competitive, aggressive, far better than the other five stallions she’d played with... but when they got to her special room in the decommissioned Mental Wing of the hospital, everything blurred. Emotions came through fine; anger, sadness, fear... lust... but the images were all blended together in an incoherent soup. Just a mess of weird images and voices...
“Nnngh,” Redheart mumbled, swaying slightly; what happened? Why does she feel so warm when it comes to the end of that torrent? Slipping, being eased onto her back, the feeling of... something on her, and that pink cloud of lust filling her mind.
Nothing connected! The next thing she remembered was being back in her office, sorting through the paperwork the new colt brought in... medical reports about Screw Loose and her daily dosage of medicine; her disorder was a strange one, believing she was a dog. Her bark was well trained, she even growled when she felt threatened... increase on her benzodiazepine... that was the compound name, wasn’t it? Depressant used around the hospital, benzo something.
She shook her head; that wasn’t the point right now! She could remember that part fine, but what came before it?! She went back through her mind, trying to clear up the mud covering her memories.
New colt comes to door. Colt comes in, talks, blushes, eyes start wandering. Idea to have some fun comes up, act on it, fight...
Redheart rubbed her neck, a shaky smirk coming across her face; ohhh, that fight... very exciting. She could still feel the electricity from that bite, the delicious sensation of his teeth sinking in like hers did to him. He tasted good, hopefully he thought the same of her.
“Focus, Care,” she shook her head again, whispering to herself; now isn’t the time to take a trip down Fetish Lane! Why were her memories giving out?
The backroom... focus. The new colt walked past her, looking around, and she slammed the door shut. His eyes locked with hers, they circled each other, she pounced. They fought and rolled, and she tossed the colt up onto that blood stained bed. A crazed grin crossed her face as the memories of those dominated before that colt came back. She’d always let them leave with a smile; neither side left that room unsatisfied during her games, though the stallion leaving would always have quite a hobble in their step.
But this colt... she was so close to taking his rear and feeling that pressure again, punishing another stallion, when he kicked her legs out and grabbed her again! That damnable grin, those confident eyes...
That kiss...
Redheart’s eyelids lowered and she swayed again, her crazy grin falling away; that kiss, that skill ... he fought like a soldier coming home from war, for Celestia’s sake! She felt her cheeks heating up, a rumble going through her body, a tingle from-
No! He’s a stallion, untrustworthy, punishable... push back, Care! Push back!
She quickly shook her head, trying to remove that pink haze from her mind. Her burning cheeks remained as she continued thinking, trying to find her way through the swampy slur of her recollection.
She pushed away from him, showed off her strength; she was close to beating him. His eyes were tired, his movements slow, one more tackle would do it! She charged, slammed into his side, they wrestled...
He got a leg on her chest, just inside her left foreleg, and pushed through his roll. T-That really happened...
No... i-is that w-
Her mind fell back to her awakening, that black dildo of hers not strapped to her flank and covered in blood, but lying on the floor like a defeated mutt. Eyes widened in shock as the jaw tightened, teeth gritting.
I lost. I-I lost.
I lost.
I lost?
I lost! I-
Something snapped. Her vision blurred. Her heart beat harder. That tingling sensation turned to lightning... something rubbed up against where it was...
I lost... I can’t believe t-that I lost... to a new colt, a stallion, that brown bastard...
Her memories carried on, now simply not inhibited anymore, rather than being searched. She gave up, turned, offered herself to him. Impossible. She’d never lost before... what made him so special? So lucky? Her senses sharpened slightly, but the moon wouldn’t come back into focus, hiding itself in the water-color of Care’s world.
… That wasn’t where the memory cut off? Didn’t they... no, she wasn’t taken then and there... she wasn’t ravaged, or even violated. She didn’t feel anything then.
Just... heard. Words. They spoke to each other.
What was it about? Was it about her? Him? She told him her name before offering. He used that first name.
What was with that tone in his voice? The way he spoke, it felt... insulted. Hurt.
She blinked, looking down at her hoof; it was stuck, frozen, between her hind legs like some voyeur caught in the act. She simply stared at it, feeling its pressure against her, as the memories carried on, a new will against the movement of her hoof running an undercurrent.
Was he talking to me? About me? About my past, about him, about that p- no, he wasn’t a pegasus, he wasn’t even a he, a pony... it was just a monster. Some monster that- stop it, Redheart! Stop going back to those memories! You’re trying to figure out what happened, not send yourself into another depressing downward spiral!
Her eyes squinted slightly, trying to focus. He refused to take her, she decided to take him instead... he grabbed her, crushed her in his grip, his teeth ran up against her crotch and pulled... so that’s why the dildo was on the ground next to the bed.
But everything goes blank after that. It all just becomes a mess of black and white, and further on, it’s all just gone! She rubbed her temple, pulling the hoof against her crotch away to support her; why was that last memory gone? And why was there a single line that came through so clear before it?
“I can help you, Care... you just have to let me,” she whispered, moving her hoof to her forehead. The moonlight cast a shadow over her eye, the diamond iris reflecting the limited light, shrinking as her mind processed what she just said.
Help me? Help me?! How can he help me!? HOW!? No, he can’t help, he can’t help me, he can’t do anything! Nothing short of killing that monster would help! Nothing! Every stallion in the world is worthless!
Worthless!
Worthless!!
EVERY LAST ONE!!
She lowered her hoof, fixing a glare on her curtains, the window, the moon, the source of that light... everything just turned red to her.
He can’t help... he can’t. Why bother offering if you can’t fix the past? Why?
She sniffed.
Why did he offer if he can’t do anything? Is it some way to get to me? Some way to lower my guard? He can’t be honest, can he?
Her cheek burned as something ran down it.
He can’t be telling the truth... he can’t honestly want to help me. The damage is done, what can fix it?
“I said you can’t do anything,” Redheart whispered to herself, eyes falling to her bed as tears ran down her cheeks.
“And that the past is the past... if I can’t change that,” a voice rang out in her head, and she froze; why is- “Then let me change what will happen.”
It was him. That new colt... his voice was so clear. Redheart looked around, only perceiving the familiar shadows of her bedroom; where was he!?
“Is anyone there?” She asked the shadows. Nothing came back except a light breeze in the trees outside; there’s no way somepony would come this far to the edge of town just to talk to her, right? “Whooves?”
Still no answer, no eyes blinking in the dark, not even a movement. She really was alone... so why did his voice come so true to her? Seemingly in response to her statement?
He said it. Did he mean it? Her memories seemed even more muddled than before, her heart beating like a drum. Did he mean it?
Did he truly mean it?
Was he a stallion she could trust? Give her heart to? She’d already done it once with that black pegasus, and it all fell apart for her...
No. She couldn’t trust him... not yet. Giving her heart away so quickly would just be a repeat performance. A thought popped into her mind through the crashing tide of her sadness, and a crazed grin broke through the steady trail of tears, her eyes turning back to the sky beyond her window.
She still had to pay him back for her loss.