Chapter 2: The Path

The road past the battle was... oddly quiet for Red Eagle’s passing. Not even the errant gang diving for cover or skittering of insects across the path disturbed the now lightly drizzling and chilly overcast journey to the town. The rain flowed casually from his waterproofed hat and coat, but what wasn’t covered in his ensemble was soon soaked regardless in cold water that left a subtle grimy sensation -adding to the atmosphere of unseen tension that hung in the air; almost palpable.

With a steady pace, slow and reserved, he made his way down the street’s center in a long practiced stride. He figured that whoever was watching the fight could have had time to gallop or fly their way to Good Neighbor by the time he arrived, or even get word of what had happened by some other means like radio. Spread the news and save him the time, or headache. That could work to his advantage, he hoped, or get the town to brown their trousers and lock him out of town out of fear alone.

He’d been there before yes, but a reputation is a fickle thing as he knew. Being known for butchering an entire group of highwayponies alone could make the locals feel at ease for having him there, but it usually just so happens ponies are anxious around those with reputations like the name ‘Red Eagle’ carried.

Red Eagle, as the moniker goes, was a traveler, a scavenger, a survivor, a killer, a mercenary. He carried many titles from his life but none so impacting as one. Ruthless. He never was one to get squeamish or timid when working jobs and the jobs themselves weren’t always what one would call ‘honest’, especially with pony tendencies to hire griffons to do... questionable odds and ends. He had delivery jobs before, some caravan guard postings, even a few short escapades with scavenging groups, but the ones ponies and others remembered were murders and likeminded contracts; even torture.

Worse was the fact he was indiscriminate, if the money was right. ‘He did what was necessary’ is what he told himself, and that was that. Repeating an old Diamond Dog saying over in his head subconsciously to justify the brutality and horror that any decent folk would lose themselves to insanity.

‘Dog eat Dog world’, survival of the fittest at its best, and the power of the phrase made him sleep easily enough.

Over the years, places he frequented knew his exploits well. Several even hosted a few of them with mixed reactions. Regardless he wandered; town to town, hoping for... something he supposed. To find one he could anchor down and maybe score a steady living? No. Even if he did he’d never settle down in one place for long, never would take the chance if given. The cruelty of the wasteland had already robbed the pleasure of such a life from him, and he would be damned if he would give it a chance to do so again.

The rain and general dreariness made him morosely contemplative, like it would for most. With nothing to really do besides continue trotting, the general silence and inactivity set him on edge and the tension made him brood. The buildings were getting denser and more ruins flanked him as alleyways buried in rubble passed him by, with his throat feeling dry despite the weather as he was lost in mechanical thoughts that continued to plague him for years. Long since drawn out having lost their edge they just repeated below his attention, like a subliminal message being suggested by some shy child.

His eyes caught a distant sight of a large town gate, assembled by what looked like scrap wood and metal with thick barbed wire lining the top across the wall until it butted up against the two large and tall buildings that flanked the shanty town barricade. On the wall was a beacon of distant unintelligible words wreathed in neon light of predominately red, but he knew what they said from previous experience.

‘Good Neighbor’.

With his attention now fully locked on the familiar sight he recognized the subtle yet memorized locations of lens glints in several high placed windows on the surprisingly well preserved buildings flanking the wall. One watched across the distance of the city with a rather powerful telescope for trouble beyond, with another set watching the roads incoming to the town from several directions, including the road he tred.

He knew at least one sniper was following him, or at least he grimly hoped one was. Firstly, he hoped that the town would know he was coming before he just trotted up to the door and knocked, and secondly he hoped the town’s guards weren’t asleep or worse. This was one place he, at the least, wanted intact. Being a good local center of commerce and activity he’d hate for a sleeping guard to ruin it for all the other townsfolk, as one larger than usual raider attack was all that was needed to hurt a place like this. Worse, all it takes is one to strike without warning prior to tear it to shreds. He knew this by experience.

As he closed the distance his body tensed in anxiety for the worst that could happen. That being simply inconvenience, but getting sidetracked over a simple disagreement could be lethal if told to head back out into the wastes. He kept his steady pace as he breathed, easing down his anxiousness, and finally got within twenty yards of the gate, the neon sign blazing ‘Welcome to Good Neighbor’ in a simple, yet garish font and color scheme that blended into off tones of red in the rain; the tiny droplets creating a shimmering dazzle.

It was then he heard the cocking of a few rifles, and their distinctive notes froze his steps as if on demand with his muscles locking without consent. He closed his eyes as he sighed, raised his head up to the left and looked into the blown out, but barricaded, wall two stories high that matched the gate’s height. Standing there was the pony he wanted to see, an Earth pony stallion, grizzled and masculine wearing a thinly blue striped suit of black that complimented his pale grey coat. His hat was an old but well kept flat black fedora of the Gunponies favored style, and it sat half cocked back atop a semi groomed short mane of dirty blonde. In the ribbon wrapped around the cap was a faintly visible pin that Red Eagle recognized as a symbol of rank.

The word they used was for this particular mark was ‘High Roller’, but to him it meant ‘Lieutenant’ with all the effect it had with those privy to the old military ranks. This was a pony well known to him, and he to the pony. As their eyes met, a long silence was held. Then the grizzled stallion began lowly cackling in an odd but bright city style accent Eagle had attributed to hustlers and gambler bosses. He had to suppress a smirk from the pony's mirth.

“Well I’d nevah imagine I woulda seen yah ‘ere again, nevah mind all buttoned up in your fancies’ duds...” The ear to ear shark’s smile practically radiated with his words, his head held high staring down the length of his muzzle, and a hoof pressed to his chest. “I’d figured our quaint little town ‘ere was too much even for yah! Might’ve even suffered a touch at some... unpleasantries.” His expression remained as it was before. ‘A good sign’ Eagle had thought.

“Is that how you ask how I’m doing Chip? Or are you practicing your wit out on me? If you haven’t noticed this rain is cold.” Red Eagle smirked half shouting at the stallion, who took his remark with a faux insulted expression, shaking his head down at his hooves. Chip looked back up at him at shot him a scowl.

“Yah know as well as I do that it works bettah when so called sarcasm oils this, and yah know bettah than that tah talk tah me so brashly!” His scowl held fast for a time as Eagle’s smirking beak widened to a full on smug grin. Chip’s expression slacked and he began chuckling again, slowly building in strength, until finally bursting out with a laugh as he regarded him with a waving hoof.

“Oh yah nevah can take a fuckn’ joke Eagle! Yah outta learn that trick one day yah stubborn bird!” his waving hoof changed direction towards the inside of the complex. “Let him in, he’s fine!” He turned about hoof and trotted back into the building’s cavity before shouting loudly as he made his way downwards into a stair well. “Maybe yah could even learn how tah tell one as well!”

Red Eagle shook his head with a guttering scoff. Staring as a smaller door set within the larger main gate opened with a pained groan of wood and steel he walked forward and made his way through to the large courtyard lined with a handful of traders and empty benches, all the while trading glances with the rigid, skeptical guard ponies. They wore the armored variety of the typical suit the Gunponies wore, with a ballistic fiber bullet resistant suit found commonly on old police uniforms, however plated with polished metal on broad sections where flexibility wasn’t needed.

It covered a majority of their body save for the backs of their upper legs, haunches, and heads, the last bearing only the fedoras they were so well known for. Their firearms were the standard variety of the forty-five pistol caliber sub machine gun that nearly all their gang used; a blocky steel and generally light weight battle saddle weapon used before the bombs. Several were worn on simple holsters for carrying however, and shaven down on weight for the unicorn owners’ ease of use with stick magazines and nothing more than the barrels, receivers, and trigger assembly.

They were a common sight to be sure for all travelers to this town. Their Expressions were hard, alert and wary, fixed on his movements. He returned it with a blank faced scowl as he continued walking onwards past them and the awning behind the wall that shielded their precious duds from the continual rain and weather. Reaching a large and grand doorway that entered the building that Chip was inside of, he shook some of the water off and grabbed the lever door knob and opened the door with a whine of the hinges.

Entering the building the large welcome mat squelched under his talons and paws, shutting the door behind him he shook more of the rain off of him and looked about at a relatively empty room save for vacant display cabinets, half wrecked and splintered apart, and a large spiral stair case that rose up through the ceiling in the middle of the room. A few guards sat in torn and weathered chairs in one corner around a low coffee table littered with half ruined magazines and bottles of various amounts of drink, and a good deal of playing cards.

They looked at him with piercing glares, mixtures of anticipation in a few and visible relief in one as he held up a hoof of cards with his telekinetic grip. Red Eagle stared at them silently for a few seconds as water dripped from his hat and barding, and one finally piped up in a typical accent of a city pony -yet an edge of apprehension colored his words.

“Poker Chip’s upstairs Eagle, says he wants a word with yah.”

As the rainwater slowly drained from him onto the mat he had to suppress a low, agitated scoff. “Always does.”

In a gesture of insult, Eagle trotted off the mat tracking water and mud with him to the stairs, his talons and paws smearing the wet muck on the concrete floor covered in mismatched carpets of different colors, patterns, and sizes. The Gunpony that spoke silently ridiculed him with an appalled expression at his insolence; the desired effect that Eagle wanted.

If these Gunponies were one thing it was immaculate, or the closest they could reach that the wasteland allowed with cleanliness for gangers squatting in ruins at least. The others either just shook their heads or were dead focused on the card game before them and paid no mind to their griffon guest. As Eagle ascended the stairwell, however, his sharpened sense of smell picked up on a rather odd, out of place aroma amidst the usual grime that permeated the wastes, one that stirred emotions. Confusion and nostalgia in chorus sang as it made his tongue shake and water involuntarily.

‘He’s going to try and bribe me, isn’t he?’ he thought. That smell was so inviting that it practically begged him to take it. It was the smell of fresh brewed coffee.

Reaching the top of the stairs he proceeded down to the hallway ahead of him with a light pantherish stride that the wooden boards below barely squeaked beneath his talons and paws. He reached the doorway near the end of hall on the left, the one that had Chip’s name and position emblazoned on it by a plaque of steel. ‘Poker Chip, High roller’s suite’, the room he needed and, more importantly, the source of the fragrance. He rapped the door twice in sharp strikes and settled himself, preparing for what should be an interesting discussion.

‘What in the world would drive Poker Chip, the gambler and money grabber himself, to afford such a luxury for this?’ a question that repeated as he tried digging for the answer, a musing cut short by a cracking sound of hinges and the squeal of the door before him. What greeted him wasn’t only a blast of the bittersweet smell of coffee, but a sight to any other griffon that would have rendered his knees jelly.

To Red Eagle? All it did was irritate him.

Before him stood one of the most beautiful griffons he had ever seen, topped off with a revealing dress of navy blue that was cut short in places like the chest and back legs, but remained tasteful in such ‘high class’ societies. Her features were elegant, akin to a white feathered swan with accents of teal in the edges of her pinions; much like the short plumage of feathers on the top of her head that flowed down her neck. Her eyes, however, were a deep and almost pastel oceanic blue that put her dress to shame.

She held the door handle as she stared into Red Eagle’s eyes with a piercing gaze, as if trying to measure him by them alone. For several seconds she held a firm gaze, and softened a touch donning what actually seemed like a genuine smile in her impeccable yellow beak. She crouched down a short ways, extending her right wing in the motion of a traditional griffon bow of respect and welcome. Extending a talon she met his eyes again, and spoke in a silky yet slightly imperious tone he didn’t expect.

“May I take your coat sir?” For quite a few seconds they stood there sharing silence. Finally Eagle spoke in a monotonously dry and agitated gravelly tone that changed her expression to slight shock.

“No, you may not.” He peered behind her into Chip’s office, and saw it was empty save for the desk, filing cabinets, and some lounging sofas and chairs orbiting a coffee table with the source of the aroma; a hotplate nestling a polished coffee pot with a steady stream of steam lifting from its tip. He met her gaze again and her expression of somewhat damaged pride didn’t faze him.

“Did Chip put you up to this?” He asked in an accusing manner, and her face screwed up into a slight scowl, then smirk as she purred to him.

“What, I can’t play the roll of gracious hostess to such a… fine specimen of our kind? Not everyday I can entertain guests of such stature in such a fashion that they deserve.” She shifted to favor one set of her legs, striking a pose of feminine allure and trying to project offended elegance holding out a talon. “Now could you at least humor me? Nothing more that civility for its own sake, I promise.”

Red Eagle had to suppress a scoff; staring at her graceful talon he relented and started unbuckling his harness along with his battle saddle and coat with sluggish reluctance. His leaden legs were grateful of the load being shed however, yet he didn’t show it, and the pack was steadily set down by the door’s entrance. His overcoat and hat were hung on a rack within the doorway by the griffon playing hostess, and she scrutinized him in his suit of soaked and dirty armor and its broad, gun metal grey plates across his chest.

The surfaces were scratched and nicked with various sizes from what looked like hundreds of blades, and more than a dozen small bullet impacts across the surface. The under suit that covered most of his body, save for his tail, wings, claws, paw toes, and head, was a worn olive drab stained into a random camouflage pattern by age, dust, and blood that was frayed in a few spots, with larger patches of reinforced ballistic plates covering mostly the broad sections of the barding. On the armor was mounted his simple knife, the sheath on the underbelly of his armor, as well as his griffon style talon held magnum revolver belted to his chest, partially hiding the worn stenciled numbers ‘zero two’ on the collar’s center plate.

She took in the entire sight with a long and ponderous gaze, and met his eyes cocking a brow. “Why don’t you really relax? I could probably get the boys to sow up and wash your barding for you if you like; maybe even clean yourself up while you’re at it. We have showe-”

“I’m fine the way I am.” He interrupted sharply and flat, refusing to shed his armor or gear any further. He shook his head softly and closed his eyes, sighing apologetically as he muttered. “I mean... no thank you.”

She stared at him with judging eyes at first, and then softened in a sense of understanding, pity even while wearing her radiant smile whose charm was lost on Eagle. “You’ve been on the road too long friend, come on inside and have yourself a drink. Relax please, do it for me.”

Eagle scoffed again as she turned around purring in her sweet voice. She caught his expression and shot him a look that begged him to just entertain the gesture. He fought with his desire to get his gear and leave, but he knew that Chip set this up and would only talk to him once he had been... ‘relaxed’. It was his way of playing the big and intelligent crime boss that wanted things to be elaborate and intrigued. So he played along and followed the splendorous griffon inside the office.

The interiors were far cleaner than the rest of the building, to be sure. The floor was swept and covered with a large rug with a negligent amount of wear and tear, and off to the right the circle of seats around the table sat in the direct center of the ring; like and old prewar office to entertain and cater guests. The left part of the room had well preserved furnishings of what once would be considered a secretary’s work space; desk, cabinets, and all.

The walls weren’t painted but the drywall surfaces were patched in brighter beige-white boxes amidst the rest of the slightly water streaked darker beige walls, and on several hung select prewar posters of different companies and organizations like clothing manufacturers or local diners. Several new postwar banners of the Gunponies aesthetic were draped across large open surfaces, adding to the almost chaotic nature of the décor in Chip’s office.

His hostess circled around the coffee table and sat down delicately in a chaise close to the set of oddly pristine diner style coffee cups and the luxuriously polished coffee pot set upon a hotplate. She gently waved a talon, gesturing to a chair that was slightly ragged but in far better condition than most chairs he’d ever seen.

“Won’t I soil it?” He said with an edge of sarcasm, looking down at his damp ensemble. She merely gave a cute laugh and cocked a brow with a smile.

“Well if you were worried about soiling our furniture, you would have taken my offer of a shower Red Eagle. But alas, if your stubbornness must insist you carry on in such a filthy getup then I shall have to suffer soiled seats.”

Her quaint chuckle made him stifle a sigh, and with resignation sat down with a squelch of his barding. He immediately enjoyed the comfort of being off his legs and wanted to sink into the chair until he was a limp and snoring lump, however he maintained his posture and stared at the drink before him as she poured out a mug of that tantalizing black drink. He weighed the odds of a poisoned gift to get rid of him for some unseen reason, but she caught his gaze and smiled sweetly.

“Been a long time since you’ve had this isn’t it?” The silence was her answer as she poured out a set of steaming mugs and set the pot down. “We've been exceptionally lucky recently with finding such salvage like this, the beans weren't even all that stale amazingly!” With a giddy pride wearing a wide smile she reached below the table and took out a small platter of tiny white cubes and an elaborate silver carafe. “Milk and sugar?” her eyes squinted suggestively as he looked at her surprised. “Yes, we spare no expense with dignified guests.”

“Sure.” He said in a lighter tone that comforted her, but she donned a faux scorn.

“You could at least say ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ you know...”

“Mhm.” He grunted, and the face of surprise, ripped off at the comment, was replaced by annoyance. She laughed amusedly with a sweet smile as she placed a cube of sugar in each of the mugs, stirring with a small silvery spoon; the utensil clinking softly with the ceramic.

“I was only teasing, forgive my social jabs.”

She stopped stirring and poured some of the Brahmin milk from the carafe, making the coffee’s hue change from black to beige with swirls of white. Working the spoon again the drinks turned into a solid richly beige color. Tapping the spoon on the edge of the last one she laid it down on a napkin and picked up Eagle’s cup and offered it to him. He took the mug from her talons and waited for her to pick up her own. She held it up in a slight toast towards him with a wide smile.

“To the lost marvels of civilization.” She declared, and began sipping on the steaming beverage with a face that exhibited nearly orgasmic pleasure. “And yes, it’s not poisoned.”

Eagle looked longingly at the drink and thought ‘eh, what the hell’. He took a sip and he felt the warmth crawl down his throat and the bittersweet taste wash over his tongue. Closing his eyes briefly he let the heat radiate through him, bringing life to some numbness he didn’t know he had. The barely audible moan he emitted gave his hostess immense pleasure, which was visible even to fools.

He opened his eyes again and stared at her expression of glee. He nodded his head and held the mug level with his head. “Here’s to simple things...” He brought the mug closer and took a draught half emptying the mug. He felt the heat hammer his insides again and he relished in the flavor, breathing a deep sigh as he stared deep into the mug. “Things like coffee.”

She shifted in her chaise to relax and drank more herself in tiny, delicate sips. “Indeed, if only the little things persisted. Then maybe the larger problems in life would be easier.”

Eagle held the warm mug in his talons, feeling the caffeine comfort him and sharpen his senses. It’d been a long time for him to just... sit. Simply sitting was a luxury he hadn’t given himself the chance to afford for years. It made him uneasy, restless, made him think. It made him remember things, these small comforts he had forgotten.

He finished his drink and set the mug down onto the table, to his credit it was on a little circular coaster of sorts, to which the hostess felt grateful that he kept at least some social graces. He breathed deeply and sighed to himself, his head hung low staring at the table and his barding. This wasn’t who he was anymore, and it felt... wrong, to put it to a word. Without moving he spoke in a soft spoken, low voice.

“What is this about?” She looked at him with a worried look as he lifted his head with an empty, solemn air. “I don’t mean to sound... ungrateful really. Thank you, for the coffee and your hospitality but...” He shook his head as he fought back memories bubbling to the surface, and his hardened, calloused heart just hummed with a hollow nostalgia. There was no joy in it.

“But you want to know why Poker Chip isn’t here, putting you here with me with such a... bounteous gift so rarely simply enjoyed.” She finished for him in her own soft spoken tones; the ruse of a joyous hostess replaced by a voice of grief. He nodded and she took in a breath with a guttering sigh, her eyes seemed to stare into the distance in her own melancholies.

“He’s afraid of you, you know?” He lifted his head slowly and locked into her eyes which were glazed by suppressed tears. She wiped them with a nearby handkerchief and sniffled, chuckling a touch.

“He’s isn’t afraid you’ll burn the town down or anything silly like that, no darling; nothing so crass. He’s afraid your... reputation will bring other problems. Things like other gangs perhaps. He hasn’t shared the details per se of his fears but... even an idiot could piece together his ramblings between meet and greets. You may be surprised but you’ve been a topic of a few conversations lately.” Eagle just kept his gaze on her as she came clean. She laid her handkerchief aside and sipped on her coffee, and continued.

“Conversations like trying to convince you to stay here and join the gang here, for good I mean. Several are against it, others are still skeptical, but only one or two are for it. They know you’re skilled and handy in a fight and... fear that if you pick one gang over another that gang will dominate the political sphere here. I told him it wasn’t a good idea but the ice brained bastard just ignored me.” She suddenly looked aghast as she held a talon up to her face.

“Oh! Pardon me Eagle. I don’t mean to speak unlady like. It’s just... frustrating that he goes on about ‘the good old days’ all the time between the two of you like that alone should make it a no brainer decision.” Eagle just sighed, shifting his stare on the wall ahead of him with a bothered look.

“If he thinks that coffee and tempting me with you is a way to bribe me into settling down for him and his own gang’s benefit, then he really doesn’t know me at all.” She fixed him at first with a look of indignation, and then it softened to one of sad acceptance. She looked down to her dress and held her talons apart framing her beautiful dress and form, faking a smile.

“Do I at least dress up well?” She pleaded to him. He looked at her with a cold, unfeeling expression, taking in her splendor that he couldn’t enjoy if he tried.

“Yes, you do.” He stood up as her expression turned into a faint joyous smile. “One of the most beautiful I’ve seen.” She donned a wide smile streaked with a single tear.

“Not ‘The’ most you’ve ever seen?” His cheek and beak twitched as his eyes abandoned coldness for a low burning fury, drilling holes into the wall.

"No... she died a long time ago." She clamed up as her smile was shattered and she held her head down low in realization.

“I see... now I’m the damn fool...”

“No you’re not, Chip is.” His low gravelly tone promised a reckoning that would probably never come; he felt every desire to abandon this place to its petty squabbles and politics, but he was locked into place with a simmering anger. Breathing deeply he reasserted control over himself and turned his head to her, her eyes were watering slowly but surely into her handkerchief. “Where is he?” she looked up at him with worry in her eyes.

“You’re not going to hurt him are you?”

He shook his head. “Not unless words can hurt him. No.”

She sighed deeply, with a fluttering quiet sob. “A shame that... I would have never agreed to this if I had known... I’m sorry.”

He looked at his gear in the corner and trotted over. Picking up his harness he began to pull on the straps, tightening them and adjusting as needed. “Not your fault, miss...?”

“Miss Nautica, Eagle.” She suppressed her pained sobs between anger edged words. “It was a pleasure regardless for the drink.”

He donned his overcoat and put on his gear, securing it into place as needed. Holding his hat he looked at her with a level and dangerous expression. “It was. Now where is he?”

She stared at him fearfully, but finally relented with a guttering sigh. “He’s up with Ashmaker in his office, trying to iron out the arrangement I talked about.”

He nodded at her, bowed his head to his hostess, donned his hat, and opened the door and trotted outside closing it behind him. On the other side of the door he measured what had just happened.

For starters, someone he really didn’t call friend, more like ‘acquaintance’, just tried to rope him into his gang with figurative tea and cookies. The coffee was nice but... her? That was unforgivable, even for Chip. He knew damn well how Eagle was, and either didn’t listen or didn’t care. He didn’t know which made him more furious, and as he contemplated how to confront him about this his left talon began to subtly shake, promising deep unforgettable pain.

Noticing the signs all to well he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm his heart rate and bring him back down to Equus. His adrenaline was flying and the only way to staunch it without violence would be to leave, for good. ‘Leave these fuckers to their intrigues’ repeated over and over in his head, but he couldn’t do that. This insult was too dire to ignore, and ignore it he wouldn’t.

He went over in his head the directions to the office of Ashmaker, the leader of the Gunponies. A large brute of a well dressed stallion, he remembered, with a dislike of Chip for personal reasons. Maybe one too many drinks under the table, or one too many losing hands at cards; Eagle didn’t care. All he knew was if he and Chip had a problem, then Ashmaker might not even interfere just to spite him. He could work that to his advantage if... no, when it comes to blows.

He flexed his shoulders beneath his armor and popped his neck in preparation. Breathing deeply he let go of the door knob and made his warpath down the hall donning a murderous expression. This was going to end badly, for Chip at least. ‘She said it would be a shame...’ he thought ‘if he didn’t get hurt over this.’

*** *** ***

Outside the double doors of Ashmaker’s office, Eagle heard the raised tones of argument between Chip’s conspicuous accent and what sounded like two others within. One was unmistakably their boss, Ashmaker, known as a huge stallion with a whiskey ruined coarse and deep voice to match him. The other was a lighter accented mare perhaps, and she seemed to be trying to resolve the dilemma without one or the other saying something they’d regret. Peace was the first and foremost concern of the Gunponies, even their dress code was secondary to want business to continue flowing, and arguments between the boss and his lieutenants threatened just the opposite. Chip shouted, presumably at Ashmaker.

“Yah know just as fuckin’ well as I do that Red Eagle would be an asset to us ‘ere! If we could only buy him out like yah did wit’ that one striped fuck, THEN we would be golden for life ‘ere in ‘old Neighbah!”

The retorting voice, loud and so coarse it could be used as sandpaper boomed back. “Yah outta take yah own advice on this one pal, why don’t YOU buy him, maybe a body guard outta give yah the balls to understand that no gang worth a fuck will really waste their damn time trekking here from outside the city! We got this town in a vice; all the shit heads out there know this!”

“For how long though!? Yah know that it’s only a mattah a time ‘till one of those so called shit heads gets a bright idea and attacks us! Even if we managed to kick their asses back to their clickin’ hot craters the cost would leave us weak, and who knows what other bright ideas bigger groups would get!”

“Gentlecolts, do I need tah remind yah of the fact closed door meetings are meant to be quiet? Please, if anypony else hears this racket the damage will be worse than some fight that leaves us defenseless, it could mean a split in our guys, and then it won’t mattah whether or not other ponies are aiming to take the town because it WILL start!”

It seemed to Eagle, that out of all of them, the mare was the most level headed about all this mess. He didn’t really care for their problems, but he sympathized with her attempts at keeping these assuming idiots in line. He guessed her to be another ‘high roller’, or at least important enough to be able to chastise them both at the same time; while they were going at it.

He breathed deeply and popped his knuckles as he flexed them into fists, easing the tension in them before raising one and rapping the door hard four times cutting the argument short. He heard a few muffled voices beyond the door, and the coarse voice of Ashmaker shot out.

“I don’t care what you’ve got tah say on the mattah anymore, Chip. Consider this case closed or yah’ll wish you shut yah trap about this shit months ago.”

That brought a mix of scoffs and wordless reactions from within, and a short lived smirk on Eagles’ face. When the door was ripped open by a furious Poker Chip he started to shout ‘The fuck yah want?’ at him through the door, until he realized who exactly interrupted the meeting. Eagle could almost visibly see a cold sweat form on his brow, his face looked sore from debate and his mane disheveled beneath his black hat. He coughed a few times lowly as if treading on egg shells.

“Oh! It’s ah... it’s you Eagle! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He chuckled lowly trying to reassert his calm and carefree demeanor he usually wore. As Eagle looked inside the room, Ashmaker, the large beige Earth pony, looked at him with wary dull orange eyes below a well groomed burgundy mane under his white fedora that matched his tight black striped white suit, and the ebon gray unicorn mare in a tasteful mare’s black business suit and skirt just shook her deep purple mane in disbelief, wearing a scowl that promised a flogging to Chip later.

Eagle returned his gaze, level and cold, at the unkempt stallion long and hard as Chip’s face seemed to twist below his smile, in anticipation. “We need to talk.”

Chip laughed softly as he rubbed his hoof on his chest. “Well, I suppose I can do just that! After a bit of time maybe when I can get myself set straight. Out of sorts yah see?”

“Now.” Eagle interrupted maintaining his tone. “In private.” Ashmaker chuckled as he pulled out a cigar and bit the tip off and spat it into a nearby trashcan as he whipped out a tarnished gold plated flip lighter with some sort of decal or plaque on it.

“Oh this I gotta see, Red Eagle. Have yah ‘in private’ here, I promise I won’t interrupt.”

Eagle locked eyes with Ashmaker with a dead serious tone and expression. “I have your word on that?”

Ashmaker matched his expression with minute detail, speaking in his deep coarse voice. “Absolutely, Earth pony’s honor and all that.”

Flicking the flame to life he casually burnt the cigar till the noxious fumes billowed forth. Taking a deep drag of the stogie he put on a wide grin, wanting a show he probably sorely underestimated. No matter, 'his honor’s on it' Eagle thought. Chip looked back in a half panic; wide eyed he threw his gaze from his boss to the other high roller, who didn’t do anything but shake her head as she trotted over to a decanter set aside several crystalline glasses.

“What do yah mean, what are yah talkin’ about boss?”

He just kept puffing on his cigar with a wide grin, looking over to the mare he motioned for her to pour him a glass as well. “Please, yah brought this on yahself Chip. Whaddaya think Stiletto?”

She merely shrugged as she poured out the clear amber drink into two of the glasses with her purple telekinetic grip. “I’ve done made it known what I think, boss.”

She levitated Ashmaker’s glass over to his desk and took a pull of her own glass with a slight shiver. Trotting over to a chaise in the corner she lounged upon it, setting her glass on the table before her after sipping from it again. Chip’s expression grew more worried by the second, and he turned his eyes back to Eagle with a look begging mercy from whatever he didn’t know he did.

“Come on Eagle, this is startin’ to look bad pal. What’s eatin’ yah?” Eagle forced his way slowly into the room, causing Chip to trot backwards, practically tripping on his own hooves. Eagle turned about half way and closed the door with a talon. Breathing deeply he stretched out again within the confines of his barding, and locked his murderous eyes with Chip’s now terrified expression.

“What. The. Fuck. Was. With. Nautica?” each word was spoken in a voice that Chip had only heard once before from him, and it was when he realized the type of griffon Red Eagle was capable of being; beyond murderous. They dripped with hatred and fury he’d never wished to be directed at him, and the individually enunciated words hammered his senses, making him flinch inside.

He stammered out in desperate attempts to speak and wasn’t entirely successful. “Wh...whaddaya mean what was with her? Who are yah...?” Eagle took a step forward. “Oh... Oh! Yah m-mean that barista? Wh-wh-what about her?” He took another step toward him, malicious intent oozed from his eyes as his talons trembled to pounce and tear at him. “Oh c-come on E-Eagle, tell me what yah m-m-mean by ‘what was with her’! I ca-”

Eagle lunged without warning into him shoulder first, knocking him onto his back to the floor with a beat of his wings. Curling up a talon he threw it with lightning fast strikes that rattled Chip’s head with any openings in his meager defense of holding his hooves up in frantic motions. He shouted and coughed and spat blood from his muzzle, but Eagle only relented when his hooves fell back limply to the ground after one strike knocked the will to fight it out of him.

Red Eagle took deep breaths looming over his bloodied and ravaged face, clasping his suit’s collar in a talon he pulled him up off the floor and spoke in a low, cruel tone as his beak practically quivered in adrenaline fueled fury. “Of all your stories of the good old days you can’t tell me the one thing that you shouldn’t have fucked with...?”

Chip’s bloodshot eyes slowly shed tears as they mixed with his pulped features, dripping from his face bearing blood within them. He coughed violently and forced mangled words through a swelling throat and muzzle. “Wh-what? Come on E-Eagle, I know y-yah!”

Eagle poured all his malice and fury into a single strike into Chip’s chest, a resounding crunch and pop echoed as he gave a hollow breath robbed scream of pain. Ashmaker’s chuckles filled the room, but Eagle’s blood curdling mountain shaking roar drowned out all the noises of the room, and Chip’s bloated eyes shot wider than anyponies’ Eagle had ever seen.

“Jade!! You fucked with Jade!!” He grabbed one of Chip’s slack limbs above the hoof and sharply twisted and levered the limb with several bones popping all together out of socket from his shoulder to his hoof, and each sent shards of pain through Chip that his body shrieked of it’s own accord. He began dry retching until at last Eagle threw the limp leg to the ground with a loud thump, and the impact made Chip convulse. Eagle donned his sinister gravelly voice and stared disgustedly at his wrecked form. “And worst of all, you got Nautica to try and play my replacement. To bribe me to join you fucks!!”

Both Ashmaker and Stiletto’s faces were held horror-struck at the realization. The latter whistled loudly as she sipped from her floating glass wearing a dumbstruck expression. “Ho. Lee. Shit!” She said rubbing her eyes with her hooves. “Yah’ve gotta be kiddin’ me Chip, that’s fucked even for you!”

The broken lump of a stallion looked at her with a bewildered expression behind the blood and swollen flesh; she just shook her head as she relaxed even deeper into the chaise. He returned his terrified eyes back to his butcher and began to beg. “P-p-please Eagle! I-I-I didn’t m-mean anything by it! I was just trying to help yah!”

Eagle forcefully kicked the dislocated limb against the ground with a piercing crunch, and Chip cried out whimpering all the while. “N-No!! I mean it Eagle!! I didn’t know y-y-yah were still s-so attached to yah old darling! I t-t-thought yah’d be over that tart b-b-by now!”

That sent a wrathful ghost of pain through Eagle that flared his eyes with no intention beyond tearing the stallion below him to shreds by his talons alone. It would be slow though, drawn out and like a blood sucking monster it would savor every drop of agony to the last.

With a flash of his claws he yanked the pony over onto his stomach and plunged a talon deep into his spine above his haunches, with a shriek Chip squirmed as Eagle dug into his flesh, and with a crunching noise as eagle ripped out the claw Chip’s hind legs went completely limp. Suddenly realizing he was in a fight for his life Chip began scrambling with his remaining leg that worked to get away from Eagle, and a dry and gleeful voice in Eagle’s ears merely cackled as the sounds of dry bones rattled in his bloodied haze.

Then, as if a midsummer breeze washed over his very soul he heard a painfully familiar but cherished voice that echoed like a majestic harp. It was a simple phrase, but one that wrenched him to a full stop as his claws raised, dripping with blood.

‘Please... not like this...’

His haze faded slowly, and he found himself breathing heavily and slick with Chip’s blood. He stared at his stained talons with trembling eyes, every fiber of his being battled for supremacy. Some demanded he ripped the insolent bastard apart, others begged for mercy. If not for Poker Chip, then for himself. The thoughts felt as if they weren’t his own, like implanted suggestions as they warred over him like a child’s feuding parents. He lifted his eyes to the panicked Chip who wasn’t getting anywhere, only smearing blood onto the carpet below him, shuffling as he did.

A sudden sensation of pity washed over him, and after what felt like an eternity he solemnly closed the distance, pressed a talon down against his back holding him down. As Chip crawled and writhed he drew his knife with his free talon. Staring into the distant nothing he buried the knife in a flash above his collarbone, severing his jugular. With a guttering death throe, Chip went limp after less than ten seconds, and it felt like a leaden weight was put onto Red Eagle’s shoulders. He breathed deeply and withdrew the knife, wiping the blood from it onto Chip’s once precious duds.

Sheathing it he stood up, hunched over as his mind cleared the murderous fog from him bit by precious bit. Sighing he looked up at Ashmaker, who despite his own hardened nature looked at him with a hint of understanding, and nodded.

“Earth ponies honor.” He said somberly. Taking a drag off his cigar he billowed out a plume of smoke and emptied his large glass like it was a quarter of its size. Setting it down he shifted in his chair, looking down at Chip’s lifeless, leaking, broken body. “Not that I was gonna ask yah, but I’ll take that as yah rejection to join us. The others will follow suit and forget about yah ever joining anypony here. Chip wasn’t loved, but he was at least respected.” He took a drag of his cigar, and regret crossed his own face. “That brings us to a rather... shitty ending.”

Eagle stood there with an empty expression that matched his emotions. He spoke with his low gravelly voice maintaining eye contact. “Let me stock up and I’ll be out of your mane by sunset.”

Ashmaker nodded his head slowly, flicking the cigar in his hoof as he was deep in thought. “I’ll give yah till morning to walk out of that gate, rest up if yah want. Yah can even sleep here in the compound; I’d guard the door myself if my boys object.”

“No need. No point in staying for word to spread and tempers flare. Gives you and me less grief.”

The large beige pony just shook his head, and took one last drag of his half smoked cigar before snuffing it out in a glass ashtray on his desk. “Always were stubborn, Eagle... Always were... fine, but yah gonna take this; no arguments.” He lifted from behind his desk a clear as air glass bottle with equally clear liquid inside it. One would usually think it was water from how clear it was but the label on it said otherwise. ‘Yak Brothers BEST MOONSHINE’ declared a strip of scotch tape in bold, haphazardly scrawled permanent marker. “I’d intended to see if yah would have wanted to share a drink, but... circumstances changed. Pardon my assumptions, but yah might need this tonight.”

Eagle stared at the bottle with a mixture of a longing and revulsion. However as gracious as Ashmaker was being he wouldn’t refuse a gift. He trotted forward as the pony set the bottle on his desk, grasped the bottle and examined it closely. The label had little jokes about the alcohol content, ‘a lot proof’ and ‘guaranteed to waste you fast’. He turned it over and saw the equivalent of a child’s drawing, now smeared in the blood from his talons, of a smiling pair of Yaks -or at least someone very bad at drawing.

He put the bottle in his pack and turned back to Ashmaker and they shared a look that only long lived, calloused creatures could. “Thanks for the thought.”

He turned and made to leave the room. It felt as if rocks were tied to his legs, but he trudged on in a weak walking pace. Ashmaker took his hat off and set it down on his desk, scratching his mane he sighed deeply. Eagle stopped and looked back at him, and Ashmaker contemplated something and he looked up at Stiletto whose eyes were still glued to the brutality she saw.

“Hey Stiletto, what was the name of that one song? Bar song, the guy’s leavin’ the bar and whinin’ his woes to the barkeep...?” He spoke to her as softly as his coarse voice allowed and she shook herself from the stupor, looking at Ashmaker questioningly. “Yah know, that one by Mic Domino. Prewar.”

She immediately understood what he meant, and began to solemnly sing in shaky words. “One for my lovely...”

Eagle’s beak quivered as if trying to decide whether to scowl or smile, standing there frozen at the door. Ashmaker’s voice rang out a few seconds later in a surprisingly well toned singing voice despite his coarse as five grit sandpaper tone.

“And one more for my woes. I got the routine; put another bit in the machine... Bein’ so sad... could yah make the jazz, slow and sad?” He chuckled deeply. “Yeah, that was the one...” Ashmaker got of from his chair and walked over to the decanter with his glass, poured himself a drink and raised it to Eagle. “We’re drinkin’ dear friend, to the end.”

Eagle just shook his head suppressing a hollow laugh. They saw the grin in his beak all the same. “Ponies...” he said, as he opened the door and trudged out, and shut that door for perhaps the last time he’d ever see it.

*** *** ***

He stood in the heavy rain among the pitch black night atmosphere outside of town. The water cut him through to the core but the cleansing sensation girded him against the slicing cold. The blood had washed off hours ago in this deluge, but it felt as if something more was being wiped clean inside him. He couldn’t describe it any better than it felt far better than the cold rain should usually feel, but regardless he enjoyed it.

The afternoon and evening were uneventful, as Ashmaker had promised. None of the gangs tried to go hoof to talon with him in the streets of Good Neighbor; neither did they ambush him outside of the city. Word had spread of how he had butchered that one gang before arriving to town, then that reputation was cemented by killing Chip. A High roller in the Gunponies that, as Ashmaker had said, wasn’t loved but was respected. No one retaliated and tried to fight him over it, but none of them would have probably helped him short of getting attacked in the street. Then the town would have had worse to deal with than one blood drenched griffon.

Other than that he walked the market square, traded for food and supplies, bartered his scrap and hard goods he was carrying and loaded up on more ammunition and restocked his healing potion supply that had run dry several days ago. The job market was trash, at least for someone who was leaving to never return. He even ran into Nautica in the market square, who was escorted by a more heavily armed Gunpony than usual, and they talked for a short while. Well... rather she had talked. He said a single word for her score as it dragged on.

It was what he expected, apologies, an offer to mend a possible friendship, a denial met with acceptance yet tinged with sadness. She’d never see him again, and Eagle was happy that she wouldn’t. His reputation preceded him, in his path and body.

His path, he wondered, was what now? The closest towns were at least a week away, the absolute closest was a bust since he came from there not even a week ago to go to Good Neighbor, but...

‘You know what?’ he thought. ‘I really don’t give a damn right now’. He peered up into the deluge and let the water flow over his feathers and body, his breath slow and steady, feeling lighter than he had felt in a long time in the rain’s embrace. He looked out before him in the darkness and saw a silhouette of a small building, and figuring he had nothing better to do presently, trotted towards it in hopes for a decent place to sleep.

That, and test his new bottles claims.

Footnote : Red Eagle maximum level

Quest Perk achieved – Gangers Grim Reaper

Chance for raiders and other gang oriented groups to flee if they realize who you are, characters of equal or greater level are not affected.

Next Chapter: Chapter 3: All gone Estimated time remaining: 11 Hours, 46 Minutes