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UNTITLED (Soarin) by Trente-Neuf

By SlavePonyGeneral
Created: 2021-01-08 21:21:05
Expiry: Never
anonsafe/spg/soarindrama

  1. 1.
    [Copied from https://pastebin.com/DLJ8ydgA]
  2. 2.
     
  3. 3.
    >A loose piece of paper tumbles across the pavement.
  4. 4.
    >For one second, it is the sole thing you focus on.
  5. 5.
    >Not the oppressively dense fog.
  6. 6.
    >Not the line of filthy people, yourself included, waiting for the line to move, if only just a tiny bit.
  7. 7.
    >Not the heavily-armed, armored police keeping watch of the crowd gathered in front of the ration depot.
  8. 8.
    >It's cold, being late fall, and your shabby jacket has no chance of keeping out the wind.
  9. 9.
    >The surgical mask over your face has no chance of keeping out the sickness, either.
  10. 10.
    >You try to quell a shiver, and burrow your hands a little deeper into your pockets.
  11. 11.
    >You take a deep breath, and attempt to keep your thoughts away from the fact that they might run out of food before you even reach the entrance.
  12. 12.
    >They have before.
  13. 13.
    >You feel a tap on your shoulder.
  14. 14.
    >"The line is moving ahead, keep going,"
  15. 15.
    >The guard to your left addresses you in an irritated tone.
  16. 16.
    >You don't need to see the expression behind his gas mask know that he's losing his patience.
  17. 17.
    >You begin to take the few steps that mark the advancement of the line.
  18. 18.
    >Then things start to go fuzzy.
  19. 19.
    >"Hey!"
  20. 20.
    >"Come on, wake up!"
  21. 21.
    >Wait what?
  22. 22.
    >"Wake up, we're here!"
  23. 23.
    >Your eyes snap open as your dream of a time long past dissolves around you.
  24. 24.
    >The plagues are over, and there's enough food that everyone can get by.
  25. 25.
    >What more concerns you now is getting yourself a slave.
  26. 26.
    >"Fell asleep on the bus, now did ya?"
  27. 27.
    >That you did.
  28. 28.
    "Great. Are we at the auction house already?"
  29. 29.
    >You rub your eyes and step into the aisle.
  30. 30.
    >"Yep,"
  31. 31.
    >The guy sitting next to you hands you your coat, which you left on the seat.
  32. 32.
    >The bus door squeaks open and you exit the vehicle.
  33. 33.
    >You enter the local civic center where the auction is taking place.
  34. 34.
    >Most towns host them like this, they're a decent source of funding.
  35. 35.
    >With the war over, and so much of the population lost, enslavement of the ponies actually got enough support to pass through congress.
  36. 36.
    >With a little bit of corporate nudging, mind you.
  37. 37.
    >The man at the desk approves your papers, and you enter into the correct room.
  38. 38.
    >You eye the ponies on display.
  39. 39.
    >They all look kind of scared, but you have to suppress a chuckle at how terrified that yellow one looks.
  40. 40.
    >Blue, rainbow-hair one looks like a bitch.
  41. 41.
    >Mint-green unicorn? Maybe...
  42. 42.
    >The big red earth pony doesn't look like he'd be good for anything other than farmwork.
  43. 43.
    >Hmm...
  44. 44.
    >You take a look at the others, too, but can't seem to make up your mind.
  45. 45.
    >More people file in as the bidding begins.
  46. 46.
    >First up is some earth pony mare, fetching an alright price.
  47. 47.
    >You decide not to bid that time, and instead examine the ones in line to be sold.
  48. 48.
    >Still don't have much of an idea as to which one you want.
  49. 49.
    >They pull out the yellow pegasus you saw earlier.
  50. 50.
    >You'd bid, but she seems timid as fuck.
  51. 51.
    >Not the type of slave that belongs with you.
  52. 52.
    >"Going once... Going twice... Sold to the man in the back corner!"
  53. 53.
    >She's dragged away in tears.
  54. 54.
    >Next up is a purple unicorn.
  55. 55.
    >You bid twice, but stop after the price gets to be more than $1500.
  56. 56.
    >It's a shame, telekinesis would have been handy for the job were looking to fill.
  57. 57.
    >Looking back to the ponies in line, a light blue pegasus stallion with a darker mane catches your attention.
  58. 58.
    >Might just be who you're looking for.
  59. 59.
    >You're sure he's strong enough to move equipment around the boat.
  60. 60.
    >Doesn't look too fucking dense, either.
  61. 61.
    >You'll go for him.
  62. 62.
    >He is led up after a couple more purchases, giving a weary look into the crowd with his green eyes.
  63. 63.
    >You've got just about $3000 in your wallet, and you'll damn well spend it all to get the pone you want.
  64. 64.
    >Bids start at $500.
  65. 65.
    >One clueless fuck dooms himself to losing by wanting the same thing that you do.
  66. 66.
    >"I'll go 500!"
  67. 67.
    >Some other shitwad raises it to 600.
  68. 68.
    >The first guy retorts:
  69. 69.
    >"Six-fifty!"
  70. 70.
    >You watch as they slowly raise the bid.
  71. 71.
    >"Seven-eighty-five!"
  72. 72.
    >"Eight hundred!"
  73. 73.
    >"830!"
  74. 74.
    >You decide to butt in.
  75. 75.
    "One thousand!"
  76. 76.
    >One of the two guys gives up, probably out of money.
  77. 77.
    >But this other motherfucker...
  78. 78.
    >"Fifteen-hundred!"
  79. 79.
    >Oh no you don't.
  80. 80.
    "Seventeen-fifty!"
  81. 81.
    >He hesitates for a second.
  82. 82.
    >"$2000,"
  83. 83.
    >He looks desperate, $2000 must be close to all he has.
  84. 84.
    "Twenty-two-fifty,"
  85. 85.
    >"Going once..."
  86. 86.
    >You smirk.
  87. 87.
    >"Going twice..."
  88. 88.
    >You're getting your pony.
  89. 89.
    >That's right.
  90. 90.
    >"$2500, that's all I can offer,"
  91. 91.
    >Then he isn't getting the goddamn pegasus.
  92. 92.
    "Three thousand!"
  93. 93.
    >The auctioneer says his thing, this time uninterrupted.
  94. 94.
    >"Sold to the guy in the third row, left side, in the black coat!"
  95. 95.
    >Fuck yes.
  96. 96.
    >You walk up to the side of the room where a desk is set up.
  97. 97.
    >You receive his registration, miscellaneous documents you don't care about, and a shock collar.
  98. 98.
    >One of the guys brings the pony over while the next, the big red guy, is dragged into place.
  99. 99.
    >The stallion stares at the ground dejectedly as the man hands you his lead.
  100. 100.
    >"Good choice sir, have a nice day,"
  101. 101.
    >You look at the pegasus you've just purchased.
  102. 102.
    >Depressed-looking, but overall not bad for the price you paid.
  103. 103.
    >You're sure he'll be fine after a while.
  104. 104.
    "Thank you,"
  105. 105.
    >You leave the auction house, the pony only lagging slightly behind you.
  106. 106.
    >He must be just about as tired as you are.
  107. 107.
    >Stepping onto the curb, you find the bus idling a short distance away.
  108. 108.
    "So..."
  109. 109.
    >He slowly raises his head, his eyes dull.
  110. 110.
    >Damn, he looks sad.
  111. 111.
    >You forgot what you were going to say.
  112. 112.
    >Instead, you take a look at one of the sheets of paper the auctioneer gave you.
  113. 113.
    >It's a basic profile.
  114. 114.
    >Name: Soarin'
  115. 115.
    >At least you know his name, now.
  116. 116.
    >Former Occupation: EUP reservist/show flier
  117. 117.
    >Interesting...
  118. 118.
    >Capture: Trottingham, eastern Equestria, by Senegalese Army.
  119. 119.
    >You never really worked with them, you were on the other front.
  120. 120.
    >You didn't really get why they put you, partially fluent in French, on the other side of the continent, with a bunch of Brazilians.
  121. 121.
    >Anyway...
  122. 122.
    >You continue reading.
  123. 123.
    >Notes: Slight depression issue.
  124. 124.
    >Fucking seriously?
  125. 125.
    >*Slight* depression issue?
  126. 126.
    >They think they can downplay *that*?
  127. 127.
    >You look over at Soarin, who is staring sadly at the ground.
  128. 128.
    >You also realize you've been standing out in the cold for five minutes.
  129. 129.
    "Hey, you wanna wait on the bus? It's actually got a heater,"
  130. 130.
    >He glances at you with a weary expression.
  131. 131.
    >"I guess so,"
  132. 132.
    >He replies in a gravelly, apathetic voice.
  133. 133.
    >Yeah, put depression on your list of things you need taken care of.
  134. 134.
     
  135. 135.
    >Your squad and the Brazilians you are attached with are sitting around a bonfire, getting drunk as fuck.
  136. 136.
    >Suspended over the fire by a spit is the skinned, sizzling corpse of a royal guard, a unicorn mare.
  137. 137.
    >You don't care how immoral what you're about to do is, you haven't eaten anything other than meager, heavily processed rations for four years.
  138. 138.
    >Just the thought of something fresh makes you salivate.
  139. 139.
    >People saw meat off its body with combat knives in a fashion as orderly as 35 wasted soldiers can muster.
  140. 140.
    >You get some leg meat and stumble back to the log you were sitting on, taking a bite of the morsel.
  141. 141.
    >Tastes decent...
  142. 142.
    >The 20-odd POWs, guarded by a few sober group members, are completely mortified, some crying or retching at what they see.
  143. 143.
    >The leader of the Brazilian platoon removes the roasted guard's horn with his machete, and gives it to your sergeant.
  144. 144.
    >A fine souvenir from your time in the Amazon, if you do say so yourself.
  145. 145.
     
  146. 146.
    >When you open your eyes, you are no longer in the rainforest.
  147. 147.
    >Nope, you're in bed, at home, and you've put those times behind you.
  148. 148.
    >People did crazy shit during the war...
  149. 149.
    >You pull on some decent clothes while thinking about what to make for breakfast.
  150. 150.
    >Wonder what Soarin would eat?
  151. 151.
    >You'll just go with cereal.
  152. 152.
    >Hard to go wrong with that.
  153. 153.
    >Before you make breakfast, though, you take the tarnished royal guard helmet off your mantle and hide it.
  154. 154.
    >Don't need Soarin seeing that.
  155. 155.
    >You also put another picture in front of the one that shows you and your buddies dancing on the ashes of Canterlot.
  156. 156.
    >You go over to the guest room, now occupied by your pony.
  157. 157.
    >You locked the door last night, but in his state, you don't think he'll try anything.
  158. 158.
    >Still, just to be safe, you unlock it as silently as possible, stand to the side of the door, and quickly pry it open.
  159. 159.
    >He's just sitting there, casually flipping through a magazine.
  160. 160.
    >No, not *that* kind of magazine, Anons.
  161. 161.
    >You guys really do have dirty minds.
  162. 162.
    "Good morning, Soarin,"
  163. 163.
    >He looks like he's wondering how you know his name, but he rolls with it.
  164. 164.
    >"Uh, good morning?"
  165. 165.
    >Yes, he actually says it like there's a question mark at the end of the sentence.
  166. 166.
    "Feel free to make yourself at home or something. What'd you like for breakfast?"
  167. 167.
    >He looks at you unsurely and scratches his unkempt mane idly with a hoof.
  168. 168.
    >"Uh... Well, I guess- uh... What do you have?"
  169. 169.
    >What do you have?
  170. 170.
    >Hmm...
  171. 171.
    >"Let's see... Oatmeal, cereal, toast, maybe some fruit, yogurt, or bagels, if you want,"
  172. 172.
    >His eyes brighten up slightly at the prospect of real, good-quality food.
  173. 173.
    >"Toast sounds fine,"
  174. 174.
    >He does a bad job hiding the slight smile forming on his face.
  175. 175.
    "Alright, find something to keep yourself occupied, I'll go make breakfast,"
  176. 176.
    >"Thank you, uh..."
  177. 177.
    "Anon. My name's Anon,"
  178. 178.
    >"Yeah, well thanks,"
  179. 179.
    >He's genuinely happy.
  180. 180.
    >You walk into your small kitchen.
  181. 181.
    >It is time for master chef Anon to shine.
  182. 182.
    >There's a loaf of bread in that drawer... Or so you thought.
  183. 183.
    >You spend a solid minute searching for the goddamned bread, finally finding it behind the microwave.
  184. 184.
    >How the fuck it got there, you haven't the slightest clue.
  185. 185.
    >With your culinary prowess, you burn the toast like it's Ponyville after the firebombings, then manage to completely mangle it while trying to scrape off the burnt parts.
  186. 186.
    >Comme un artiste.
  187. 187.
    >While putting it on a plate, you realize you forgot to ask Soarin what he wanted on his toast.
  188. 188.
    >Ah, fuck it. You're too lazy to ask, so you just go with butter.
  189. 189.
    >Who doesn't like butter on toast?
  190. 190.
    >You find Soarin in the living room.
  191. 191.
    >He doesn't notice you, he's just kind of standing around, looking at the photos on the far wall.
  192. 192.
    >There are a few ones with family that he glances at, but what catches his attention is one of you in a dress uniform, walking off the ramp of a C-130.
  193. 193.
    >You still remember that day, finally returning home was nice.
  194. 194.
    >He turns back to look at you.
  195. 195.
    "Well, I've got breakfast. Go ahead, take a seat,"
  196. 196.
    >"Alright,"
  197. 197.
    >Good to distract him from that subject, you're sure he has bad memories of the war.
  198. 198.
    >You can talk to him about those later.
  199. 199.
    >Soarin complies and plops himself down in an armchair.
  200. 200.
    >You hand him the plate, and he wastes no time digging in.
  201. 201.
    >Shit, was this pony starved or something?
  202. 202.
    >Yep, probably.
  203. 203.
    >He finishes the first piece, and attacks the second one with zeal.
  204. 204.
    >When he's done, he still looks hungry.
  205. 205.
    "Yeesh, want something more? I've got more food,"
  206. 206.
    >He looks up at you, eyes wide.
  207. 207.
    >"I can have more food?"
  208. 208.
    >Yep, those slavers sure do a shit job of feeding their ponies.
  209. 209.
    >You nod.
  210. 210.
    "Yeah. Want more toast, or something else?"
  211. 211.
    >He takes a second, absorbing what he's hearing.
  212. 212.
    >"M-more toast... Would be nice,"
  213. 213.
    >The way he's tearing up about the prospect of getting a third piece of toast reminds you of when you first were drafted into the army:
  214. 214.
    >After almost dying of starvation, your mind was fucking blown when you realized the military had enough MREs to provide *two* meals a day, not just one.
  215. 215.
    >Shit, you felt guilty for being a damn glutton because of those two measly packs of shit-tier food you received daily.
  216. 216.
    >Same thing is happening with Soarin here.
  217. 217.
    >He looks like everything he's ever known was blown away just because you said he could have a second serving.
  218. 218.
    >Tears well in his eyes as he embraces you with his forehooves.
  219. 219.
    >"Thank you, Anon. Thank you,"
  220. 220.
    >Even though the pegasus is weak with starvation, his hug still forces air out of you.
  221. 221.
    >You have some understanding of where he's coming from, but you still can't help but pity him.
  222. 222.
    >Those papers said he was, what? 19 years old?
  223. 223.
    >You were only a bit older than that when you were drafted, but, I mean, you did win the war (and get a decent therapist afterwards).
  224. 224.
    >And even though awful shit happened, you were the one doing it, not having it happen to you.
  225. 225.
    >Soarin here has seen his entire adult life ruined by a conflict he probably never knew would start.
  226. 226.
    >Sucks for him.
  227. 227.
    >Either way, you should probably go make more food, Soarin wanted some and you haven't eaten yet.
  228. 228.
    >And this whole hug thing is getting awkward, fast.
  229. 229.
    "Okay, Soarin, uh, I get this 'undying gratitude' stuff, but if you want more food, I kinda have to go make it,"
  230. 230.
    >He lets go finally, a sheepish grin on his face.
  231. 231.
    >"Y-yeah, sorry..."
  232. 232.
    >He sucks at hiding the flush on his cheeks.
  233. 233.
    >You laugh it off and enter the kitchen.
  234. 234.
    >This time, the toast isn't half as badly butchered, and you make some for yourself, too.
  235. 235.
    >You head back into the living room with two heaping plates of toast.
  236. 236.
    >Courtesy of Master Chef Anon.
  237. 237.
    >You both begin to eat your food.
  238. 238.
    >Neither of you talk, consumed by eating.
  239. 239.
    >You look up at the photo on the wall, chastising yourself for not hiding it.
  240. 240.
    >You don't care if he finds out you were in the army.
  241. 241.
    >So many people served, it's only natural that there was a chance you fought in the war.
  242. 242.
    >What you really cared about was little filly that was in your backpack at the time.
  243. 243.
    >You wanted to make sure he'd never hear about her.
  244. 244.
     
  245. 245.
    >You are private first class Anon Y. Mous.
  246. 246.
    >And you've found what was making the noises.
  247. 247.
    >A small white filly, sprawled on the ground, a shattered horn poking through her pink-and-purple hair.
  248. 248.
    >Where one of her back legs should be, there is only a ragged, gory stump that ends before the first joint.
  249. 249.
    >Blood and ash are spattered all over her coat.
  250. 250.
    >In between sobs, she cries, with labored breaths, for help.
  251. 251.
    >She looks up to you, her tear-moistened green eyes desperate, almost pleading.
  252. 252.
    >"P-please... It hurts, h-help,"
  253. 253.
    >She begs in a voice laden with pain.
  254. 254.
    >"I-it hurts s-so much,"
  255. 255.
    >Does she care that you're the enemy?
  256. 256.
    >"P-please,"
  257. 257.
    >Of course not, she's a scared, hurt child who just wants comfort.
  258. 258.
    >A corporal from your squad, who is going by, nudges you on the shoulder.
  259. 259.
    >"She's yours, 'Mous, get it done and get moving,"
  260. 260.
    >You sigh.
  261. 261.
    "Yes, sir,"
  262. 262.
    >Two conflicted, staccato words.
  263. 263.
    >He runs off to catch the rest of the group.
  264. 264.
    >You know very well what a "She's yours" means.
  265. 265.
    >You ask for forgiveness.
  266. 266.
    >You remove your pistol from the holster on your vest.
  267. 267.
    >And pause.
  268. 268.
    >Distant screams can be heard over the thunder of artillery and the pops of rifle fire.
  269. 269.
    >The burning buildings can be seen, even through the thick cloud of smoke forming over the village.
  270. 270.
    >And at your feet lies a terrified, broken filly, now fervently begging for her life at the sight of your weapon.
  271. 271.
    >What a night.
  272. 272.
    >You line up the sights on her head.
  273. 273.
    >At least you'll make it quick.
  274. 274.
    >You switch off the safety.
  275. 275.
    >She's only a child...
  276. 276.
    >The child of an enemy.
  277. 277.
    >You move your finger to the trigger...
  278. 278.
     
  279. 279.
    >The hoof shaking your back brings you back to awareness.
  280. 280.
    >You're breathing raggedly, cold sweat stinging your skin.
  281. 281.
    >Your eyes begin to refocus, bringing the living room back into view.
  282. 282.
    >Fuck...
  283. 283.
    >Reminiscing a little too vividly on the old war days, now were you?
  284. 284.
    >You look down to your right, where you're pretty sure Soarin must be.
  285. 285.
    >The concerned look wipes off his face as he shrinks back from your gaze.
  286. 286.
    >Does he really think you're enough of a dick to hit a pony because they were concerned about you?
  287. 287.
    >Are you?
  288. 288.
    >Dick enough to mess with the poor guy, that's for sure.
  289. 289.
    "DID I ASK YOU TO CHECK ON ME?!"
  290. 290.
    >You yell with unnecessary volume.
  291. 291.
    >Soarin looks fucking mortified. He quickly tries to stutter out a response:
  292. 292.
    >"Uh, well, n-no... B-but you w-weren't responding, I wanted to-"
  293. 293.
    "BUT DID I ASK?! HUH?!"
  294. 294.
    >He's looking like he's regretting his life choices at this point.
  295. 295.
    >He shrinks away even further, clenching his eyes shut.
  296. 296.
    >"Please! I j-just wanted to help!"
  297. 297.
    >Too far, Anon, too far.
  298. 298.
    >The joke is over.
  299. 299.
    "Shit, man, calm down! I was just fuckin' with you!"
  300. 300.
    >Soarin whimpers from the corner he's backed into.
  301. 301.
    >"Huh?"
  302. 302.
    >You sigh.
  303. 303.
    "It was supposed to be a joke,"
  304. 304.
    >He looks up at you and visibly calms down.
  305. 305.
    >"A joke?"
  306. 306.
    >Mmhm.
  307. 307.
    "Yeah. I will say I was glad to see you were actually concerned for my wellbeing,"
  308. 308.
    >The look of confusion still evident on his face, he responds.
  309. 309.
    >"Uh, thanks,"
  310. 310.
    >While you were spaced out, he could have easily left you there, broken a window, and made a run for it.
  311. 311.
    >Hell, he could have even killed you.
  312. 312.
    >But he didn't.
  313. 313.
    >This pony is actually starting to gain your respect.

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