Rough Draft, Parts of Chapters 11 + 16

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“Gaaah!”

All that nubile young pelt must have finally driven Double Down to madness. He was herding as many of them down the hallway as his bounding-weaving pattern could net. He looked like the out-of-mind and failing W.I.N.O.N.A. units in their mad task of dead cattle wrangling, only instead of bones these were wide-flanked young mares, and I wondered comically if that's where he got his technique. The mound of sensuous youth started giggling and squeezing through the door.

“Lozenge, save me from myself!” he cried playfully.

“You're sins are your own,” I replied, trying not to sound quite as disenfranchised as I felt. I slunk out the side exit, unsuccessfully avoiding the lecherous appraisal of the old greasy stallion on his greasy couch.

Then I was back into the thoroughfare's dirty mock-innocence. I trudged up to the Rim and was about to flop into the back of a coal cart when I thought, “What am I doing with my life? Did I fight my way out of Tailahasse and Trixie's death trap just to hitch coal carts and be in bed by midnight?”

No! I could have... fun. I could... have... sex. Gulp. Like Double Down said, the world was my playground! It was time to play!

“A stallion and a mare!” I said, altogether too loud for the setting, as I slapped the lazuli down in front of Straps so hard his desk shook.

He raised an eyebrow, and I knew if he asked me what I was doing I'd pick my gem up and leave.

“H-hot ones!” I braved on. I was shaking all over.

Straps gave me one of his portentous, slipshod once-overs and I felt sweat under my mane. I thought he was going to start explaining the mechanics of the act, but then I realized I'd almost knocked the door off it's hinges on my heroic incursion. The mismatched eyes didn't do me any favors either. A lecture on barn door mechanics became less likely than a plea to not damage the merchandise.

“Uhhh. Okay. One of each?”

“Y-yeah...,” I said, realizing a small voice like that was not worthy of a life-liver, a life-player, not just a life-survivor. I redoubled, “Yeah!”

Some bells jingled in response to his lit horn, and two spectacular specimens of their gender came in from stage right and left, respectively. My mind read back shocked zeroes. To describe them or the hardware they were trussed up in would be an exercise in flabbergasted adverbs. I managed a noise like a high-tensile cord snapping.

“I figured you needed a couple a' pros,” he grinned.

The bastard. This was an ambush. I took a step toward them, then... Nope! I was out of my element. I swooped up my lapis and bolted out the front, where all the market mares could see what a bad pony I was and the company I kept. Sirocco would hear that big sis is a slut. Sorry, kid. Big sis is a charlatan hussie. All of the stigma, none of the guilt.

Still. Effort.

~~~~~~~End~~~~~~~

Y'know. Nuns.

Here's another one from Chapter 16:

~~~~~~~Start~~~~~~~

A faded lithograph hung along the conveyor into the mine shaft, its inevitable blanking postponed by the simple lack of light; its structural integrity preserved by Solstice-knows-what. A row of earth ponies stood in a cartoonish rendition of a mine, tearing at the nondescript stones with blocky, saddle-mounted drills. Ingots of steel sprouted in every direction; no doubt the exertion of some well-meaning propagandist with no knowledge of actual mining. They were all smiling. They looked proud, resolute; potent:

Your metal digs Saddle Arabian graves! Keep it coming!

~~~~~~~End~~~~~~~

All the way up to Chapter 20 on rough copy. Just trying to place some events at their proper when and make sure I'm veering toward truth and not buying in to my own BS.

Let me know what you think.