The Wrong Stallion

That was 5 years ago, now Wright was 45 and his mane was starting to grey and he had begun to grow a very large beard. He sat in a cattle car as it shook along the tracks, he had no idea where the train was going and didn’t much care. After he had been swindled of his land he later found out that the papers were a hoax yet there was nothing he could do because he willingly accepted the challenge, that’s how they got every-pony. After being promised half the profit to not burn down the property he considered it and didn’t burn it down, the first 3 months were easy to get by but after the 3rd month the Flim and Flam brothers stopped giving him money, claiming it was only a temporary thing.

After that he had begun to sell his belongings to get along in life, even his shotgun that had been passed down from generation to generation. Wright began to drink to drown his sorrows and soon he became broke, having to become a begging homeless pony to get money. He rode trains from town to town. In one particular town he met a southern apple farmer that told him a story about how she had the same situation but now that Wright had been drinking so much he didn’t remember that day.

The train stopped in a small town called Appleloosa. Wright hoped out of the train and immediately went to the town’s saloon. He had managed to hold on to a few bits from the last town to buy himself a few drinks here.

He entered the town and sat down in front of the bartender. “Bartender get me a drink, hard liquor” Wright ordered and the bartender handed him a large bottle of Vodka and Wright gave him 30 bits, he now only had 20 left.

As the day progressed Wright got more and more drunk and eventually the bartender had enough. “Alright yah bloody drunk yah’ve had enough, get outta here” he ordered but Wright looked to him and laughed “ha I was in the service… they called me Sergeant Mercy because… uhh oh shit I forget” Wright said. The bartender grabbed him by the foreleg but Wright still had his combat reflexes from the war and snapped the bartender’s foreleg in three places. The bartender hollered in pain and several ponies in the bar lept at Wright, who was fairly drunk yet still somehow able to fend them off. He broke several pony’s hindlegs and ribs in the fight.

Suddenly a gunshot went off and every-pony but Wright backed up in fear, there stood in the saloon doorway a lone pony sheriff with a still smoking Colt single action army. “Alright what’s goin on here?” the southern sheriff asked,. “Ah sheriff so good of you to join us, I was just explaining to these fine gentle-colts that I’m Sergeant Mercy, I served with distinction and… uhm oh fuck it… bartender another drink” Wright ordered, too drunk to remember he had just broke the bartender’s foreleg.

“Alright yah bloody drunk best be bringing you down to the station” the sheriff replied and Wright chuckled drunkenly “not till I have myself a drink” Wright laughed and grabbed a fine bottle of wine. Sheriff Silverstar walked over to him and grabbed him by the foreleg “come along now sunny bout time yah called it a day” Silverstar told him calmly but Wright pulled his foreleg away. Silverstar let out an irritated sigh “Now sunny we can either do this the hard way… or the easy way, your choice” Silverstar told him. “I like hard liquor better than easy” Wright said in a drunken tone. “Well that’s your own choice” Silverstar muttered as he slapped a hoof-cuff on one of Wright’s hooves but before he could get the other one on Wright reacted violently and slapped the other cuff on Silverstar’s hoof and flipped him onto his back, knocking out of Silverstar.

Wright reached to Silverstar’s saddle bags and pulled out the cuff keys and unlocked his hoof-cuff but attached it to a handle on the beer taps, cuffing Silverstar to the booze taps. Wright sat there for another few minutes and drank more alcohol before he became completely wasted. “Well… I’ve had enough for one day” Wright said drunkenly and looked at Silverstar “what the hell are you doing down there sheriff?” Wright asked, too drunk to remember what he had done, but Silverstar was still unconscious. Wright got up and staggered out of the empty saloon. Outside several armed deputies were waiting for him. Wright held up a bottle of Vodka “hey every-pony don’t worry, booze is on the house” and with that statement he fell over drunk and passed out.