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The Price of a Dream · FiM Minific ·
Organised by RogerDodger
Word limit 400–750
One Last Try
Redheart’s got some real brass ones showing his face around here.

There’s only two things a stallion can do to get looks like he does, the first one being snatching another stallion’s drink. Ain’t never seen a cold blooded runt more wicked.

Just look at him there, all cosy’d up in his thick leather jacket. You know a stallion’s up to no good when he brings a suit for a trip to the bar.

I hope for his sake he’s got spares.

“Your tab’s overdue, Red, long overdue, but you got money for suits?”

The barkeep stares him down with that long barkeeper’s face, eyes so tired that they don’t bother blinkin’ half the time no more.

A doll comes in just in time to save Red from that same old conversation, but he knows she sure as sugar won’t cause no trouble herself.

“What’re ya havin’, darlin’?”

“Beer.”

She gives the barkeep a cute little wink and nod, and he gets them each a schooner.

“I never seen you smile, Hops. Could do yourself some good once in a while,” she says to the barkeep.

“I ain’t never smiled in a hundred years, lassy,” he says, with as minimal facial movement as a stallion could even make. He dejectedly hands it over.

Redheart takes a good mouthful of the stuff.

“Takes a lot of guts to show yourself ’round these parts.”

He stares her down absently, then takes another mouthful. He knows what’s coming next.

“I know what you did, and I just want to say, that you’re a god damn bastard.” She slaps him right across the face. It connects with a right smack, the flat hoof gleaming right off of his cheek.

He takes the hit without much of a flinch. He just looks at her, then takes the last mouthful. A stallion’s gotta wonder what it takes for a dame to buy someone a drink just to slap him.

His face is as flat as a wall, and his eyes are as sharp as a blade.

“You best watch yourself on the way home tonight, lassy.”

The pallor comes right off her face; she’s as white as a ghost. Ain’t nothin’ left to do but run on out of there, wailing like a ghost.

Redheart takes a good look at his glass, like he’s gonna find something. There ain’t nothing there, nothing but his big ugly mug lookin’ right back at him.

By the time he’s done lookin’ at the glass, the dame’s back, bringin’ along with her big old Wedges. Wedges ain’t much of a fighter, but he sure has the pounds to send any pony flying half-way to Appleoosa when they get on his nerves. And I’m thinking little boy Redheart might just’ve done it.

“You threatening my mare, pretty boy?”

Redheart leans down to get a closer look at the glass.

Wedges gets flustered and goes to grab him. “Answer me, pretty boy!”

As his hoof make contact with the suit, Redheart springs into action so quick that my eyes don’t even catch it. All I see is the aftermath, Wedges hoppin’ around and flipping his wrist about like a loony

“Ahh! My fuckin’ hoof! Fuck! Ahhh!”

Wedges may be a dumb stallion, and he may sure well be a whole lot drunk, but that don’t mean he’s stupid enough to escalate. Well, I figured it wouldn’t be. Ain’t so sure no more.

Wedges grabs Red’s glass. “You fuckin’ cunt!” He tries to smash it over the other bloke’s head. Sure was a big mistake for Wedges, because that glass ended up right in his neck.

Wedges goes down like a sack of bricks. Red’s face ain’t so flat no more either. He’s red as a tomato.

“Anyone else?”

The noise in the bar drop to a murmur.

“Anyone else?!”

Then, complete silence.

“I’m a fucking hero. And this is what I get. This is what I get for doing what’s right. You’re all living corpses, living corpses doing what the head dead man tells you to do.” He spits on the dirty floor. "None of your are worth half a shit to anyone."

He storms out of the pub with a passionate fervour. It’s inspiring in a way.

But then again, he’ll be back next week.
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