GREEN   338   0
   2935 16.42 KB    313

UNTITLED (Soarin) by Trente-Neuf

By SlavePonyGeneral
Created: 2021-01-08 21:21:05
Expiry: Never

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

Popular Stories

by SlavePonyGeneral

One-Shot Stories [47]

by SlavePonyGeneral

Recently Updated Stories [9]

by SlavePonyGeneral

Reccommended Stories for New Readers

by SlavePonyGeneral

Completed Stories [37]

by SlavePonyGeneral