Entry 013 - Jailbird Blues (Part Two)

I awoke to the sound of retching, at first assuming that one of the Snips had struggled to handle the stress of the last few days in captivity, but then I realised that the coughing was much closer than that. Rolling over with shoulder throbbing, I found Gypsy huddled over the facilities provided for us to relieve ourselves, ears splayed back.

I leapt out of bed with my concern blanking out the burn from my wound and struggled with my manacles across the room to assist her.

“Whoa, Gyps, are you okay?” I distressed, trying to catch her eye. Her cheeks were redder than the clowns you found in old foal comic books, and her mane was wet with perspiration. She was finding a reply, but the reflux was keeping her from saying it. Before I could be stopped, I was at the bars and calling down the hallway, begging a guard would hear me and take pity.

“Hey! We got a sick hen in here, no tricks! Get your flanks down here and help her!” I pounded my front feet on the metal rods and pushed my beak through, trying to see somepony. I caught the flash of blue before Gypsy wrapped me in magic and dragged me back, panting with the toil of dealing blows to last night’s dinner.

“Crow, I… I’m fine,” She croaked, but it was too late to change my reaction and the consequences. The guard reached the bars and whacked his baton twice in irritation on the cage door.

“What’s going on here? You said somepony was sick?” By the surly manner in which he spoke, I came to the conclusion I’d woken him up from a sneaky snooze on the job. I didn’t bring up his attitude, just tugged my poorly friend away from the pan.

“Gypsy’s been chucking chunks,” I informed him, “what was in last night’s dinner, eh? You tryin’ to poison us?” The guard and I held an impromptu staring match, squinting at each other, before his horn lit up and a ring floated from his pocket.

“Ms. Breeze, present your horn through the bars so I can shackle your magic. Allow me to remind you that the cell block has a fixed Trace Charm that negates your magic to low levels, do not try to do anything stupid, now.”

“W...Wouldn’t dream of it,” Gypsy groaned, pushing her forehead’s wand through the gap to let the guard clip the band to it once more. Satisfied she wouldn’t be able to rag doll him with a blast of telekinesis, he unlocked the door to guide her out. I went to follow, but was stopped by the stun baton waving dangerously at my beak.

“Oh, no. This isn’t a conga line. Back up inmate, or I’ll be forced to use this.”

“Gypsy Breeze is my best friend, I’m not letting her go alone!” I declared, pushing my chest out. He wasn’t impressed, and gave me a second warning motion of the fun stick.

“Last chance, back up now, griffon.”

“I think I-” Ker-zap!

I didn’t know I was on the ground until seconds later, I either did not feel the impact or I was feeling too much of everything to differentiate which was which. My body was swarming with electric wasps, all stinging me at once from the inside out. My limbs were a mass of struggling, biting snakes and my physical body felt out of my control. In the oddness of my mind, I panicked that I might lose control of my bowel movements, and prayed to every listening deity to save me from that humiliation at least. That was the last thing I wanted the guards to find me lying about in. My eyes rolled into their sockets for a brief second, and when sight returned with the slight hint of a headache behind it, I was on my side.

I realised, when the involuntary shaking in my system ceased and the buzzing lessened, that Gypsy had cried out, and that the guard had advised her I’d be fine as he clattered the door shut then led her away. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye, or promise the guard I’d use that thing in an unsanitary place of his when the opportunity arose, but as I gradually recovered I muttered both under my breath.

“What did the griffon do to her? She’s evil, that bird-thing, you know? A foal killer!” One of the Snips aired their thoughts before the guard’s whack on their iron gate with the stunning stick silenced them.

Cumbrously, I wormed my bound frame across to the wall in an attempt to right myself, and paused briefly to ensure that my worst fears had not been realised. The only stain on the floor was crimson, where my thrashing had reopened the empty bullet hole. I could live with this, and made sure to thank the listening Beings of Absoluteness, apologising for not believing in them sooner.

Click! Scratch scratch, scratch click…

The sound behind- No, inside of the wall- caught me off-guard and I turned to look at the stone partition with a sleepy stupefaction, as though the concrete was itself to blame for the odd noises. The cells were by no means entirely quiet; there was a thrum of turbines filtering and cleansing the air, the hum of electric in the lights and the coughs, murmurs and whimpers of the other prisoners, but this was not like any of those natural noises. This was like a radroach with a StealthBuck crawling around me.

The old bite scars on my neck subconsciously began to itch and I shook the thought away, telling myself it was just a Snip on the other side playing tricks on me. I jostled my bands until I was on my feet once more, pushing my auriculars to the wall to try and hear the sound clearer.

Clickity-click click… Skrreee!

“OI!” I finally yelled through the brickwork, knocking my good leg on it for more impact, “whoever’s playing silly beggars in the next cell, pack it in, ye hear? I ain’t afraid of ghost stories, so quit while you’re ahead!” I was clearly annoyed, as more Trottish curses formed on my tongue before I finally eased off and listened to see if my threats had the effect I desired.

There was nothing for several seconds, leading me to believe I’d been successful…

Skree… Scratchscratch click clack skreeskreeskree…

“What the bloody hell is going on in there? Are you having an orgy with a bunch of-” I was interrupted by a crash, a clank, and the sound of hooves pounding along the corridor. I frowned at that sound, and tried to listen to recapture the other noises from my enclosure. Finally there was nothing, apart from the stamping of an elephant driving through the cell block. I knew this was a problem I was about the address, but I wanted and needed to know that the racket in my rampart was not my imagination.

“Hey, come on, just do it one more time, please?” I waited. I received nothing for my patience. “Just one more-” Too late.

“Crowella MacRural.” Procrustean now stared through my barrier at me, his eyes gleaming almost gleefully. It wasn’t a look I felt comfortable seeing, especially with my ear pressed to his wall like some crazy old mare listening to the voices in her head. I peeled myself off and reasserted myself.

“Crusty. I’ve missed you. How’ve you been?” Far from getting angry at my satire of our destructive relationship, he actually chuckled. I think I even shivered at the joviality of this horse. If he was happy, that meant he was winning.

“Your interview is up. I want you to follow me, griffon. Do you comply?”

“Oh, I comply alright,” I offered obligingly, “do you want to do this with the bondage or without.” Another laugh. Damn, I was a better comedian than I thought.

“Keep them on. Don’t want you to put those talons to any use.”

“Wise,” I concurred menacingly, and stepped through the doorway obediently when he let me out of his cage, “Gypsy Breeze; is she hurt? Sick? Is she going to be okay?”

He looked blankly at me and then gave a small huff, as though he just remembered I’d had a cellmate that night.

“Just an upset stomach. Based on what you’ve eaten out there, I’d have assumed you’d be used to them.” It wasn’t a satisfactory answer, but at least it was an answer. It was more than I expected from the humongous ass.

Recognizant of the weird sounds I’d heard in the walls, I turned to the area where I expected to see a lonely prisoner sat in another cage.

Instead, my surprise was strangled out when I looked to see that there was nothing else after my cell, not even a door leading into another area. Just more repetitive grey walls.

“But, I… What? I heard scratching there! Behind the wall!”

“Get moving.”

“But-“

“Move!” Rather than argue further, I did as I was told, wondering just what else could have been making that scraping and screeching. It sounded too big to be rats, too small to be hounds, and too alien to be ponies. After a few steps, I decided that the problem was the Stable’s and Crusty’s now, not mine, and I just had to put my curious energy to my more pressing predicament.

Together we walked along the silver brick road, dopey eyes of the Snips staring out at me like nocturnal creatures in a wild and unrestful jungle. I could see them muttering, even heard a few choice words, but Procrustean did nothing to discourage them.

I had absently wondered why I was the object of the Snips dislikes whilst Gypsy had graciously not received the same tumultuous abhorrence. Recalling the last yell I heard made some sort of sense of their feelings towards my friends.

“What did the griffon do to her?” When their world turned dark under a falling building, I was there. When their families were crushed, I was watching. When their friends and leaders were obliterated, once by debris and next by anti-material guns, I’d been at fault. I was their feather-cursed angel of bucking death.

Ahead, another guard was collecting a different pony. Elm, I’d hoped, but I’d been wrong. Instead, one of the early yellers from my first catwalk to my haunted can at the back was being removed from his slammer and being held patiently, waiting for us.

“Two interviews? Did you double book us, Crusty? If you need to cancel, I perfectly understand.” There was no response to the jest, but the chief of security was grinning broader. Something perverse was going on here, I was trying not to let it rattle me but now the big guy had been smiling for a while and I didn’t like it. He even had a touch of mirth in his voice when he commanded the guard to guide both of us into “Interview Room Alpha”.

Both of us. A member of the Snips and I, in the same room with the bull of a security guard. I knew right then and there that the game was over for Gypsy, Elmwood and me, and Procrustean was one move away from checkmate. I took a look at the stallion who would soon be sealing my doom and tried to give him some reason to be intimidated out of confessing all. It seemed to work; the royal blue pony with a red mane and a broom for a cutiemark was shaking heavily on the spot. It was remarkable that he hadn’t wet himself in fear.

We’d been foolish to think that the Snips would hold their tongues about their true identities or ours. Of course they’d tell the guards all, they had much more proof that they were related to the residents of an opened Stable. They might have shunned their PipBucks and suits, but they’d passed the knowledge down from Big Snip to Little Snip for decades. All I had was a story about a once Great Magician who died, got cremated and then, “oh, here’s a funny story, my friend peed in the same pot his ashes were in!“ I doubted Procrustean would laugh, miracles are hard to come by these days.

On cue, the villain of the piece swept in and commanded the other guards to leave us, “Big Bad” could handle us from here. I took a quick look around the room, which was unexceptional. A table with a recording device upon it, chairs, lights, a poster that announced, “Fair and Honest Judgement - Stable-Tec Security; Protecting You Forever,” and a long black oblong on the far wall, in which I could almost see the reflection of the chamber and, by association, myself.

I clanked over it to look at the shadowed version of myself, my usual deep blue feathers now tarred by midnight, my gold eyes mucky and my bandana browned, looking more aged in this abstract view of the world. The door clicked shut and Procrustean took a seat, a clipboard and pen prepared for notes. He did not seem daunted that he’d have to take them himself until I recalled that he was documenting anything he missed with the gadget on the table. He tapped the device to begin recording, and then addressed the extra stallion in the room.

“State your name and designation for the records.”

“D-Designation, s-sir?” stammered the Snip.

“Where you came from, stallion.”

“O-Oh, r-right… Swept Floor, Child of Grand Magician Snips,” that made Procrustean stop writing for a moment and set his quill down.

“You’re a descendant of Ministry Mare Rarity’s Grand Magician himself?” he asked incredulously.

“Huh? Oh, no, not me,” Swept waved his hoof hurriedly, “that honor befell King Feather Bed, who unfortunately passed away in the ninety-third year of our resurrection from Stable Fifty-Four, due to-”

“Abridged history only, Mr. Floor. Why do you call yourself a child of Grand Magician Snips if you are not one?”

“The ponies of Stable Fifty-Four are all Children of Grand Master Snips,” I aided my judge, jury and executioner whilst also trying to play along, no matter how futile the task was, “we call ourselves Brother or Sister, and we are led by Kings and Queens because we are the master pony race and…”

“We are all Children of the Grand Magician Snips,” Swept interrupted, giving me queer looks, “it is thanks to his might and power that we survived.”

“He mightily and powerfully let a wee posse blow his brains out for our sins, and we are forever grateful for his-” A warning point and bark of silence from the head of security stopped me from overdoing it.

“Do you know the griffon beside you?” Procrustean enquired, his eyes demanding only honesty from the quivering horse. Swept Floor looked to me, and then back to the official, nodding fiercely. With this confirmation, Crusty pushed him to give an answer loudly and clearly for the recording device, making more notes.

“The g-griffon came from the W-Wastelands, she’s a part of a g-group who d-desecrated the remains of the Grand M-Magician and s-stole from us.”

“The griffon did not come from your Stable, as she claims?”

“N-No sir, she d-did not.”

“Interesting,” the pleased demon took his time looking from Swept to me, giving me time to let the confession sink into my stressed nerves like a dagger into butter. “Griffon, what is you defence against this accusation?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Mr Security Stallion,” I chirped, feigning innocence, “Floor has been playing these tricks on me ever since I paid him in cats over a wee gambling game. As I recall, we were playing a game of One-O and I was teaming with this stallion named … now, was it Sue? Or Zoo? Or Is-“

“Y-You are lying! Y-You know you are lying!” Swept Floor cried out, pointing a hoof at me then turning to our inquisitor, “she has never even stepped a hoof, or-or claw, or anything into Stable Fifty-Four! She is the best friend of Deadwood, the stallion who blew up a building and killed many of my Brothers and Sisters, they even killed King Muddy Waters!”

“Can I just point out, Crusty, that King Muddy Waters killed King Feather Bed to get that title, I think wee Grand Magician Snips dropped a little redemption from on high in that case…” The Snip beside me gasped in horror at my suggestion.

“Th-That’s blasphemous!”

“That’s the Celestia-beloved truth, pal!”

“That’s enough!” Roared Procrustean, clearly tired of our pointless squabble. He thrust a leg in Swept Floor’s direction, “Mr. Floor, in your opinion, is the griffon beside you a murderer?” The witness to my crimes looked towards me darkly, the same look of repugnance that Brittle Sticks once wore. I imagined the stallion had risen to cast judgement on me, with half of his side still a mass of dripping green gloop.

“No,” his sound and confident answer surprised the pair of us, “b-but she let the real murderer kill my people, and that’s j-just as bad in my o-opinion.” I blinked at the pony who was casting his dark magenta eyes at me, then shrugged to Crusty, utterly lost for smart comments.

The head of the security nodded a moment, seeming to consider the weight of Swept Floor’s statement against me. Uncomfortable with the silence, I spoke.

“This has nothing to do with what occurred in the museum. This stallion was never there, and whilst he has some pretty damning things to say about my character, I don’t think he-“

“What are you doing?” Crusty suddenly yelled, to my deep confusion. I blinked at him and was about to enquire whether he was requiring a doctor when he yelled again.

“Let go of... Mr. Floors, release my weapon!” The security stallion started to do a strange fitful dance, kicking the table, almost launching the audio recorder, and staggering like a drunken monkey. I looked to Swept Floors who was looking as bemused and terrified as I was. Something whistled past the Snip’s face, and before the item had clattered to the floor, Procrustean had spun to kick out a black hind hoof into the other pony’s jaw, sending the cuffed horse sprawling.

“You’ve lost it, pal!” I yelled, backing towards the door. Not in the interest of ceasing his crazed beating, the mad stallion suddenly shoulder-barged Swept into the wall, causing him to yelp in pain and shock. A second thump knocked the wind out of him. A third caused something to crack.

I watched in awed horror as the freshly bloodied horse slid down the wall, ruby droplets pouring from his nose and mouth, his eyes beseeching Procrustean to show pity. No pity came. Instead the equine tank turned, gave a well-aimed buck of a back leg at the side of Swept Floor’s head, and his neck gave a nauseating snap.

Dread filled me as the corpse released the rattling breath in its lungs one last time and slid over to breathe no more. My eyes lifted to Procrustean, attempting to prepare my horrified mind for an escape plan as I’d surely be his next victim. He was moving towards me, his hoofsteps unsteady as his eyes glazed over for that brief moment.

Then, he threw the door open.

“Guards! I need more guards in here, now!” In the time it took him to get out of the way of the entrance, three of his team rushed in, armed and ready, whilst two others hovered at the threshold. Crusty snarled in anger, his hooves still a wet, meaty red. One, a medic, knelt to check the vitals of the pony, only to confirm what I already suspected with a solemn shake of his head.

“Officer Twill! You didn’t put shackle his horn! The inmate nearly got a hold of my weapon!” The aggressive scolding had the armored pony stumbling back, looking in surprise at the lifeless stallion’s horn. When I looked, I could see Crust was not fooling around, there really wasn’t a ring on it, but that wasn’t how this went down. Swept had not been about to shoot me or the head of the guard, had he?

The shock left me confused, feeling as though I’d missed parts of the interrogation, that somehow I’d been hustled but I couldn’t see the whole picture right now. I could only see the guards demanding me to remain still.

I watched Procrustean pant in the wake of the fight, return to his desk and lean to his recording device.

“Swept Floor is deceased, killed in self defence during an attempt to remove my weapon via telekinesis. The Griffon, Crowella MacRural, has survived the ordeal. Tape ends at eight-oh-one am,” he gave the date, then clicked off the recording device. Lastly, he rounded on me again and forced me to flinch into the corner.

“I need a last word with this griffon, alone,” he announced, to the bewilderment of his peers.

“B-But sir, after what just happened…”

“Do you see a horn on the griffon? Blessedly you remembered to keep her wings tied. She is not a threat and I need to ascertain whether she needs further assistance after what she just witnessed. I need you to clean up the mess in here. Can you do that, officers?” Sharp salutes and affirmations later, Crusty lugged me out of the besmirched room and into another, far smaller one. When the only exit was closed, he gave a deep, long-suffering sigh and sluggishly looked back at me. I wanted to demand what the hell he’d just done, and why, but all I could manage was abject disbelief at the maniac.

“Oh, good. That’s shut you up. You might listen to me now without idiotic comments, griffon,” he grumped listlessly, as though his previous act had been a tedious task on an average day. I was silent.

For once, I studied him in his entirety out of a mere desire to remember my killer in the afterlife. The Earth stallion was built like a brick-shit house, that much I’d already realised. His fur was black, with flecks of white and grey where hairs chose not to cooperate with the rest of his color scheme. His mane was blueberry purple with prussian markings, cropped short and swept back. His tail followed the same tones, and his flanks bore his mark, a curved blade with a golden handle. This close, I could see small scars where he had taken minor battle wounds, and wondered briefly just how he’d come to recieve them.

“What I just did was send a message to those pitiful wastes of space in my prison. They still seem to think they are entitled to the same rights in here that they gave themselves out in your world, but this is my world now, griffon.” He took a few lumbering steps past me, examining me from head to toe. I tried to follow his walk with my gaze, only losing him briefly when he was tail side. “This is my jurisdiction and when any creature threatens that, they face annihilation.”

“Swept Floor wasn’t a threat,” I finally countered, “he was just a wee pony with a big gob. He was more of a threat to me than to you and even I wouldn’t have killed him just for that.” Crusty snorted, trotting back into an easier view angle. His eyes weren’t on mine, he seemed too interested in my wounded and bandaged shoulder.

“One pony can be a bigger threat than you realise. It only takes one pony to talk to another and before you know it, you have a rebellion. That is why I need you to work with me now, griffon.”

“Work for you? Are you bucking kidding me?” I backed away from him in vacillation, my mind reeling with yet another shift in my overall perception of what the buck was going on here. His nearly black coffee eyes narrowed and twitched when they looked into mine.

“I need to know what the rest of your raiding group are planning to do here, and that the ponies under my jurisdiction are safe. With you on the inside, informing me on the plans that your ponies make and what trouble they think they can create, I will have the upper-hoof in restoring peace to this Stable.”

I took a long deep breath and sat, looking thoughtful as I weighed up the options. The stallion sat too, giving me time to agree or disagree to his plan. On one claw, I could agree, with the knowledge that even Poxy just wanted to accept a peaceful remainder of life in the Stable. On the other claw, I didn’t want to give Crusty the satisfaction of having me on his roster. Finally, I let the air stored in my lungs out slowly and gazed up at him.

“Go buck you~AGGGH!”

Suddenly, I was a teenage chick once again, in a toolshed making very poor life decisions. But this time, it was Procrustean putting the pressure on me, his hoof jabbed and pinning me via the bullet lesion in my shoulder. Hot lava was seeping through my leg and fresh blood soaking into the bandages.

“Wrong answer, griffon,” he hissed into my ear as I cried out, “you think you have a choice? You will report to me about every little thing your band of rebels do, if they so much as spit I want to hear about it, and if I discover you are lying, you’ll wish I do to you what I did to Mr. Floor. Do you understand?” He pushed on the contusion harder, blackness beginning to appear at the edges of my vision, the undersides of my eyes stinging with tears. The parts of my body not filled with pain were numb.

“U-Under… Stood…” I croaked. I waited. He wasn’t releasing me. Why wasn’t he releasing me from this torment?

After several more seconds, however, he pushed the epicentre of my pain and I toppled over, shaking and swallowing all the oxygen I could muster. He trotted across me, my body too weak and restrained to stop him, only one eye able to see him as he leaned down to me.

“I know what lies beyond the doorway, griffon. I know that it is not a place of ascension, it is a place of our own destruction. We’re already in the Garden of Equestria. I intend to keep it that way.” He ruffled my head of blue feathers with a noxious exult, Swept’s gore still clung and claggy on the hoof which pushed my bandana nearly into my eyes. He left me there as he walked out and through the door, calling the guards to deal with me as he kept walking.

I was still too hazy from the last attack to recall the journey back to my cell. I had to be dragged most of the way, I knew that much, with Procrustean convincing his lackies that I was just suffering from shock and was on the road to recovery. I was sent unceremoniously into my cell, where I crawled across to lay my back against the wall and catch my breath. There were sobs and angry, unforgivable tears on my cheeks as I dwelled furiously at how easily I had been subdued. I’d once promised myself I’d never be so easy to dominate again, and I had just broken that promise to myself.

“H-Hey…” I whimpered when it was just me and the wall, the gates clanking shut at the far end of the hall, “hey… if you’re there… if somepony is there, listening… Watching… Please. Help?” I didn’t know who I was talking to. I didn’t know if I was talking to anyone, or if the scratching had all been in my imagination. I turned my face into the bland solid wall and pressed my forehead against it, eyes closing.

“Please. Help...” I stopped, and I listened, but nothing came.

“I don’t care. I am me.”

Periwinkle had stood with me in the rain, her claw holding mine for as long as I needed to build up my courage. I was nearly out of my teenage years and I was about to make the most important decision of my life. It was a decision that would change the path I was on forever.

We stayed together outside of my parent’s cottage for hours in that heavy downpour, and with radiation in the rain we had to drink a pair of RadAway potions before we could finally make a move.

“We could do this another day,” my Snowbird had offered, several times. I refused every time because I knew that if it wasn’t today, then it wasn’t going to happen. I could be quite easily trapped in the bubble of a meaningless existence just knowing I was safe from bullets and gunfire in my sleepy little village.

Lochgoilhoot was a quiet place in the Trottish Highlands. Small villages and settlements were mostly kept out of harm’s way when the Balefire Bombs hit, as the attacks had been focused on the major cities such as Trottingham first and foremost, and only really suffered the fallout as the winds and rain spread the megaspells effects out far and wide.

That had been a nearly a century ago before I was even born, and what remained now was a tribe of survivors trying to live normal lives and fend off raiding attacks. If anypony or any griffon sought sanctuary, our village would provide so long as they could prove themselves useful once moved in. For my family, that role was filled by my mother taking the role of commanding officer of the guards in the village, which had earned her a pink scar over one eye during one attack. It was the only part of her body not black or white.

My father was a mason and builder. Despite being a drunk, he was well liked for having had a claw in fixing something on every house in the village, and in some cases even rebuilding them from scratch. If Daw MacRural built it, then it was built to last. My sister, Mag, was training under my mother for the village forces, and it was clear she was her favourite of us two.

Periwinkle’s mother became useful as a merchant, as well as a delivery griffon. She’d brought a wealth of trade to the village and helped put our home on the caravaneer's map, making the place a little busier and more interesting once business really got going. Sadly, she became caught between a feud of two raiding parties during her last trip and was found cut up, defiled and defeathered by the time the scouting party located her body. Snowbird picked up the business from where her mother left off and when I was old enough, I helped her maintain it.

I don’t think we truly realised how much we actually loved each other until we had to depend on each other in that way. I’d always fallen back on that griffon, ever since the days she first taught me how to fly, but it was when she had to rely on me that our relationship blossomed. The first time we kissed was after a long day restocking the store with salvaged materials and items, and the first time we made love was during an argument about who had lost a particular pony’s parcel. We only discovered after the event that I’d been sat on it the whole time. Luckily, the grey ghoul with bubbles on her flank never questioned the stains on the brown parcel paper when she came to collect it.

We’d been a couple for half a year before we reached the night when I knew I would have to confess to my parents that their little Crow was not bringing them any eggs in this lifetime. I’d grown sick of living my life and love in secret, being unable to share a simple embrace outside the back room of Peri’s store, fearing that somepony might take the gossip back to my mother and Pa. If I wanted to be a free bird, I had to come out to them both and that night was one of the few times they would be together in the same room.

Reinforced by my Snowbird’s love, the moment of courage came and pushed me through the front door of my childhood cottage. My Pa was sat in his usual chair, a whiskey bottle in his claw of which he’d drank half. My Mother was pacing by the hearth. That wasn’t usual for her, I can never recall a time she just sat still for a second unless it was to prepare to shoot something or someone. My sister was sat at the table, reading from an old magazine about warfare. That chick was bound to follow in her mother’s footsteps.

Upon our entry, all three looked up at me. Their eyes followed the join where my claw connected to Periwinkle’s, then followed it up her leg to her. Finally, as though they’d both previously choreographed their movements, they turned to me again and awaited my explanation.

“Ma, Pa? I … I have something to tell you,” my tongue went dry on the first few words, my gazed hurriedly turning to the unoccupied corner of the room.

“I’m-“

“We already ken, Crowella,” my mother sliced open my confession like she was cutting into ham with her voice. She took a stride across the room and within a heartbeat she was in Periwinkle’s face, snatching my girl out of my hand and pinning her against the wall by her shoulders.

“MA!”

“You cannae jus’ confuse my daughter,” she said, her actions betraying her attempt to calmly bulldoze our relationship. Peri struggled in the grasp, claws trying to push my mother off.

“I’m not confused!” I protested, trying to tug my mother away from my beloved as well. “I’m a lesbian, Ma!”

“No.” The matriarch almost hurled the weight of Periwinkle across the room just so that she could twist and confront me, her rebelling child. “How dare you suggest I created a mistake? You’ve been misled and this is your cry for help, you want to be a normal, strong member of this family and not a spineless accident wasting life with this clarty chancer,” I reeled back from her words and her vile aura of prejudices, unable to get more than a few steps out of her reach. Peri was back on her claws and trying to come to my rescue, whilst my sister and even my Pa were motionless.

“You cannae mean that, Ma. You’ve ken for a while that I’m a lesbian! I-“ the words were squeezed out of my vocal chords by tight claws.

Nightingale MacRural was not a griffon you could argue with. She’d silenced my father several times in front of my young eyes with raised fists. She’d come close to teaching my sister a few lessons on how to take a punch. However, out of everyone in my family, I’d been the biggest disappointment. In mother’s eyes, the only way I could start behaving like a true griffon was if I was beaten like one.

Between the both of us, Snowbird was trying to fight to keep me from choking to death in the clutches of my own mother’s talons.

“Stop it! Stop! You’re killing her!”

“Say it,” mother strived to reverse the truth of my sexual orientation, “say you want to be fixed. Apologise for havering about this drivel and tell me you’re willin’ to change or I’ll make you change, Crowella.”

“Let her go!” Snowbird was trying her best to pull the griffon who brought me into this world away from me, as I grew close to being snuffed out of it.

“I… cannae…” I managed, my breast sucking for air out of its reach.

Plunging from the crushing claws around my neck to the floor felt like jumping from a roof several stories high. When I hit the flagstones, I rolled on to my side and coughed on the oxygen I greedily consumed. Snowbird fell beside me to tend to my raw gullet, whilst I heard the griffoness’ claws click when she crossed the room. The sound of the gun cabinet being opened was unmistakable, a weapon retrieved from it before it was closed again.

I attempted to get to my feet to stop her, but I wasn’t strong enough. Although my feet kicked the wall, floor and Periwinkle, I was just a floundering wounded animal on the ground. Nightingale’s rifle rose, prepared to shoot and kill my dearest friend.

Pa reacted quickly. He was out of his chair with speed I’d never known the old, alcohol-dependant griffon to have, snatching the gun as it fired. The fire pellet swirled past the feathers of Periwinkle’s head and hit the wall behind us. It would have been a kill shot if it had not missed.

Mother was in shock, unable to think of how to be angry with my dear old dad for making her miss such a close-range shot. She was still trying to tug the gun from my father’s grip, but he held it fast. Snowbird was horrified, screaming out at how mother had tried to kill her. I was angry.

“I don’t care about this family!” I announced with my hoarse and hurt voice, rising unceremoniously to shield Periwinkle.

“Crowella.”

“I don’t care about this village!”

“Crowella!”

“I don’t care about death,” I howled as my heart gave up on all but one of us, “I don’t care, I am me!”

“CROWELLA!” my father finally bellowed over me. I had more to say, but of the other four in the room only he and Periwinkle had any control over me at this point. Wavering, I dropped my sight over to him.

The effects of my Pa’s drinking were not as prominent the last time I set eyes on the sage, mature griffon. He was alert, aware and, in my opinion, subjugated. My mother still tugged at the gun in his grip, but either she wasn’t trying or my father had found some super-strength that none of us had known he was capable of. In Nightingale’s expression, I could see she was fighting a turmoil in her mind. Knowing the events that followed, I believe she was mentally collecting the power to do the unthinkable.

“I think you should leave now, Ella.”

The bereft words made my fragile heart shatter entirely. My father was shunning me, the daughter he’d given griffon-back rides to, encouraged to sing with him, taught to grow up with love and respect for her elders.

I opened my mouth to argue, only for Peri to pull me urgently. It was as though she knew what was coming next, although I believed then it was in fact because she was scared of being a target again.

“Pa?”

“No, Ella. Go.”

“Pa!”

“Go!”

Grief and loathing had welded my feet to the floor. I would not have moved if it wasn’t for my Snowbird. In my head, I argued with Peri that I was no longer afraid, that I could defeat my mother once and for all now, but my mouth refused to open and the rest of my body was not willing to try.

The last thing I remember seeing in that dark and rain-battered cottage was my mother’s eyes, still fixed on my father with a glassy, loveless gaze as she finally yanked her weapon clean from his talons. She may have turned the gun towards Periwinkle again as she slammed the door shut behind us, however everything happened so quickly that I was never sure.

We ran. Our lives depended on it, we were certain of that. We weren’t safe in the village anymore. We weren’t safe in the Highlands either, mother had a conglomeration of friends and allies. We’d have to leave what we couldn’t carry and go that night.

Bam!

Time dropped to a crawling pace. I skidded in the mud, swivelling around to look to the shadow of my family home. It looked ordinary; candles flickering in the windows, smoke lifting from the chimney into the black tar rain, door still shut and walls that had sheltered me for years unchanged, unable to show me what had happened within.

But I knew, before the weather-muffled cry of Mag shouting for my Pa in the bleak house across the streets, I knew my father was gone.

I wanted to run back, to do something, anything to fight for my dad and bring him back, keep him alive, save him. As I screamed myself raw and tried to dash back, Periwinkle threw herself on me. It was all she could do to stop me sending myself into the waiting sights of my mother’s rifle.

Over my wails in the midst of that muddy bed, Snowbird held me. We couldn’t be there long, we had to move, but for a second she did enough to tell me she was there with me in my pain. She wasn’t going to desert me, but staying in that puddle of rain, dirt and tears was not an option.

“Crow! Come on! There’s nothing we can do, get up! CROW!” Wrenched to my feet, I somehow found the strength to run with Peri, almost unable to see through hot and streaming eyes. I saw her stained-cloud form lift into the air and followed her, the wings she’d trained taking me up and away from the place I could never call home again.

As we flew, I pictured his face again and again like some demented slideshow determined to destroy me, his eyes resolute and his voice remorseful.

“I think you should leave now, Ella.”

I have no idea how long we were airborne after that. I only remember tumbling upon touchdown, unable to be courageous any longer. Snowbird landed with me, her body and wings folding around me like a bandage. We did enough to seek cover from the weather and Peri had the wisdom to build a fire, but I was inconsolable.

Once the flames were crackling on the least-wet sticks my love could find, she moved in to hold me. The tears from both of us would not dry that night.

“Come on, get the chains off of her, for Celestia’s sake. She’s a hero, not a criminal,” Overstallion Overlook was at my door with two guards, one fumbling with keys whilst the other looked adorably lost.

Hero? That wasn’t a word I had ever associated myself with. The idea that any of my actions could be considered heroic was utterly laughable to me and I couldn’t resist a snort.

“Hello, Overstallion. I have some complaints about my current abode,” I mustered some cheerfulness into my voice with a clang of my chains for effect.

“I expect you do, Miss. Crow,” his head bowed graciously to me, “please, accept my apologies for incarcerating you after all you and your friends did to put down a menace to our Stable.”

Baffled, I nodded cautiously whilst the guardpony worked on freeing my aching legs. The metal loops dropped and moaned a little too orgasmically at the feeling of being able to freely move my limbs about once more.

“On your feet, come on,” urged the guard, helping me back to the door once more. My thoughts of the scratching wall were gone, all I wanted now was a proper mattress and something with a lot of alcohol in it. However, Overlook had more to say first.

As he guided me past the cells once more, I looked around, expecting some complaints from the Snips regarding my freedom. The first cell we passed was empty. Then the next, and the next. The Snips were gone.

“Was there a jailbreak whilst I was napping?” I asked, looking to stallion with the smart-pony spectacles. When he shook his head, his angel-feather mane wisped from left to right.

“Nothing of the sort. Chief of Security Procrustean brought fresh proof to the council of Stable T-Thirty that the ponies we arrested upon your rescue were plotting a rebellion within the Stable. We’ve moved them on. Come, I’ll explain more when I reunite you with your friends.”

Crusty was observing at the far end of the corridor, unlocking the main gate for us. His beady eyes locked on to me as we passed him, his gaze demanding I do not deviate from my vocal contract with him. Being under his hoof made me feel physically sick to the stomach.

Crossing through the gateway, the three ponies continued to lead me to the Beta room whilst avoiding the first. I could see that some poor guards had been ordered to clean the crime scene in interview room Alpha, mops, clothes and buckets stained red. I found myself wondering just what would have happened to that body.

“I must apologise for that as well,” Overlook said ruefully as he glanced in also, “I understand that the raider you were interviewed with lashed out due to a mistake on our parts.” I considered telling him the truth, but after everything I’d seen Procrustean do thus far, I didn’t think mutiny was beyond his capability.

“Accidents happen,” I mumbled as I was shown through the door.

“Crow!” Sighed Gypsy in relief as soon as she saw me. She slipped down from the chair to hug me. I cuddled her back gladly and glanced over her shoulder at Elm, who was watching us as though he’d never seen a pair of mares embrace before. He was bandaged around the stomach, the white ribbons disappearing under his Stable suit.

“Are you both alright?” I asked in concern as I nudged my favourite friend.

“We’re fine, thanks chick,” she answered hastily, busying herself by pushing strands of mane out of her eyes, “I had a little bit of radiation poisoning. Couple of RadAways and I was back to perky old me again.”

“Please take a seat,” Overlook requested as I tried to determine the insincere face my friend was using. Gypsy couldn’t look me in the eye, and I knew that meant something else was going on with her, I just couldn’t convince her to say what with other ponies around.

“Miss. Crow?”

“Miss. MacRural actually, Overstallion,” Elmwood said for me, “Crow’s her first name. Just Crow. Nothing comes after that bit except MacRural, I promise.” His face asked me to try not to hit him. The overstallion gave a bemused huff and nodded without an ounce of understanding in what Elm really meant.

“Very well, Miss. MacRural, if you please?” Gyspy and I joined Overlook and Elmwood at the table, as water was passed to us by a waiting guard. I willed it to be a beer but my powers of persuasion were not powerful enough, so I sipped from the glass glumly.

“Firstly, on behalf of Stable T-Thirty, I want to offer my appreciation for your foresight and instinct to stop a horrible attack on our good ponies,” he pushed his glasses up and gave us equal smiles. I gazed briefly across the table to Elm, who caught me looking and returned a bright beam across his muzzle, followed by the mouthed words, “please don’t hit me.”

“Had you not apprehended the villains when you did, they could and would have hurt many more ponies. Your bravery and innocence in the attack has been noted, and your freedom has been assured,” Overlook placed both forehooves on the table and leaned into us.

“Procrustean and the council have reason to believe that these raiders who infected the minds of the four terrorists might still be at large and preparing a larger attack.” The overstallion sighed wearily, touching his glasses again. The wire framed circles were determined not to stay on his nose.

“You want us to keep a look out and tell you what we find?” Elm said, filling the gaps. Overlook, the master of looking contrite, confirmed the suspicion.

“I won’t ask you to put yourselves in harm’s way again,” he told us, “I just need to know that we are all protected from those jealous of our good hearts.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Mr. O,” Elm said jubilantly, giving him such a firm push that he nearly knocked him off of his chair. “We’ll take the case! We just need a couple of things to sweeten the deal.”

“Ah, of course you’ll be paid,” Overlook agreed, nodding, “and your desires and needs will be considered. Is there anything else I can arrange for you now?”

Elm gave a thoughtful hum then smiled over at me, “ladies first?”

The healing potion was like a cooling breeze on a sweltering day, soothing the angry notch in my shoulder gradually from the moment I ingested the medicine.

I examined myself in a true mirror this time, stood in the bath house for the second time during my stay in the Stable. My wishes from Overlook had been simple; a private bath, a supply of alcohol, a proper opportunity to heal, and the suit I’d previously rejected. He granted all four.

Infuriatingly, I looked good. The navy uniform with gold trim had been fitted just for me by one of the Stable seamstresses, with short sleeves for my wings to protrude from. The only hiccup had been getting it over my PipBuck, which had been an awkward and annoying labor. Thankfully, I got it on, although I had to wonder how I was going to get it off again.

I stroked the suit down with my front feet to straighten it. The Stable-Tec logo and T-Thirty numbering were on my collar, shoulder and breast, just to remind me where I was and who I belonged to now. I got to keep my bandana at least, and so I still felt like myself although some pony had washed it and now it stank of strong flowers.

I had finally chosen to wear this because I needed to fit in with the rest of the Stable. Crusty wanted me to be his tattletale and that didn’t sit right with me, but as long as I did as Poxy had originally asked and started playing from the same record, I could get away with telling him all was well. I couldn’t report my fellow comrades if there was nothing to report.

The true blue griffoness stared out of the shiny glass at me, blinking slowly and examining the odd scars under the feathers that told the stories of my life. She, like me, was considering whether to start drinking, find a song we could actually sing for the Seven-Day rule, figure out just what was up with Gypsy or try to locate Mole.

Hours ago, all I’d wanted was a drink. After having time in the bath to abide with everything else that had happened to me during my one stint in Procrustean’s care, my priorities had changed.

I needed that smile.

“Oh fuck,” I told the idiotic griffoness mouthing the same words along with me through the reflection as we both thought of Molasses Candy, “you’re falling for that bucking spaz.”

For some reason, that just made me smile more.

<sub>FOOTNOTE: Quest Completed - Jailbird Blues
Quest Perk added - Twinkle-talons (level one): You are now able to sneak 10% better within range of enemies.

Quest Complete - Stable T30
Quest Perk added - Suited for Success - Access to 1st Rank armor modifications

Level up!
New Perk: Ghosts of the Past - Add +1 to Acumen

Quest Begun - Mane Squeeze
Quest Begun - Bun In The Oven
Quest Begun - Bitch Snitch</sub>

Author's Notes:

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; Objects In The Rearview Mirror - Meatloaf

Another long one, getting longer and longer... It's 3AM! I did not mean to stay up this late editing this chapter but I'm happy I did, I'm happy with the end result of this. The story is really starting to get some meat on it's bones.

Thank you again for reading up to this moment. Ask me anything.
If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.
Life's a happy song, when there's someone by your side to sing along!

All good things,
Duskhoof