Show Pony

don’t shoot the messenger

[theocseason4]

[tigersand-archive]

NORTHWEST ZONE 05...

[noiseshow]

Pony’s expression softens, realising they probably scared the poor guy. “It’s alright,” they try to reassure, “it was a kind gesture. They’d be very useful, but I think you should keep them. Do you have your regular medication? We have some, it’s easier to taper off.”

They smile gently and retrieve their own radio, handing it over to Sandy. “Call him, he’s worried. There’s a blanket behind you, and I’ll be just past the curtain if you need anything, I take night shift so don’t worry about waking me. All good?”

[tigersand-archive]

NORTHWEST ZONE 05...

[noiseshow]

Pony senses Sandy drowning a little in all the goings on, and directs their attention to finding things to fill some listening time for him. He’d likely be here for a little while, a couple days maybe, so there’s plenty of time to kill. They manage to scrounge up some unidentified pilot’s interviews, possibly from the Second War, the interviewer sounds quite like Sandy himself, though the audio quality isn’t wonderful.

“I’ll try to pull some easy listening for you, familiar stuff, but you can pick up anything you like the look of, just be gentle with them…” their words barely above a whisper through quiet air. A muffled Dr D could be heard next door, settling down the Zones and saying a quiet word for today’s casualties, may their shadows live on without them. “Your friend, Mouse, do they know you’re alright? You can use my radio if you’d like, it shouldn’t be much different to your own,” they offer, and there’s a look of slight concern on their face. Mouse seems like a big worrier from what they’ve heard, and it’d probably be nicer for Sandy to not be in this situation alone.

Their expression sours slightly at the tablets, they know it’s not his fault, but he needs to be aware that it’s not a good look. “No, thank you,” they try to be polite, “most of our drinking water is bottled and safe. We’re not likely to willingly consume more than we need from the city, I’m sure you can understand why.”

[tigersand-archive]

NORTHWEST ZONE 05...

[noiseshow]

Pony notices. “Sorry, just didn’t want y’gettin’ dizzy on me,” they comment, “ can’t have you head over heels just yet.”

They’re up, and taking a turn about the room, plucking an old battery-powered tape player from a shelf. The player seems brittle, and has the long cord of frail headphones wrapped around the middle. The headphones have thin orange sponge covers over the earpieces, clean but stained. Nothing like BLI-issue. “Into history?” They ask, looking around for some tapes, “anything in particular you want? Stuff to do with planes?”

The collection is placed gently on the seat next to Sandy, along with a few tapes of relatively calm music. “Should help if you have trouble sleeping, or don’t wanna.”

[tigersand-archive]

NORTHWEST ZONE 05...

[noiseshow]

Pony smiles to themselves while Sandy looks around, always amused by wide eyes. They tidy up a little, putting their supplies away in various nooks and crannies. It's chaos, but it's organised chaos. Everything has a home, and they know it like the back of their hand.

They retrieve a can of soda from... somewhere, cream soda, should be good for his blood sugar if nothing else. "Catch" is their only warning before tossing it in his direction, and moving to sit on the arm of the couch, crossing one leg over the other.

"This-" they tap the stack of records "-is the pride and joy of this station, and the lifeblood of the Zones. Music, old, new, never should've been made... My favourite are the recordings of Old World speeches, there's one about a dream that I just love, declarations of war, warnings for radioactive areas - we never get to play those on air. We still have a bunch unsorted in the back room, zones knows what's in there..."

The way they speak is almost dreamy, and it's obvious how passionate they are about collecting the data. They're curious as to what's in Sandy's flight bag, but they won't push just yet.

[tigersand-archive]

NORTHWEST ZONE 05...

[noiseshow]

Pony’s pleased with his assessment. “Ten points to Sandy,” they joke while removing their helmet and climbing off, “we run the radio for the Zones, keeps everyone in the loop. Less death, more fun.”

They wheel the bike into the station, beckoning him to follow under a loose corrugated metal sheet, and leave it standing in the makeshift foyer. There’s a beaten up couch amongst piles of records, CDs, tapes, and flash drives, an audible history of the killjoys and piles of stolen BLI paperwork. The walls are pasted thick with maps, notes and spray paint doodles. A tattered American flag acts as a curtain between this room and the next, with a katana displayed above the door. A box of BLI issue guns sit at the foot of the couch, the top few in various stages of painting.

“I couldn’t find anything internal, but we’re still gonna have to keep you under observation for a while,” Pony says, what a shame to have a handsome man under observation, especially when there’s so much else to do, “just chill out on the couch, your heart should settle soon. Want a drink in the meantime?”

[tigersand-archive]

NORTHWEST ZONE 05...

[noiseshow]

Pony smiles upon his return, he’s clearly taken everything that wasn’t bolted down, at least he has that part of the killjoys. “You’re gonna be just fine, doll, and I’m sorry to ask, but can you leave behind anything with location tracking that you can’t turn off? Much appreciated.”

They rev the engine and shoot off at high speed, kicking up a massive cloud of dust behind the pair. Possibly showing off a little. The ride is fairly smooth, the only bumps being unavoidable terrain differences. Pony keeps a radio chattering between their thighs, reports of the crash site barely audible over the motor. It’s no more than ten minutes when they reach a very questionable structure, a mishmash of building parts and shacks and a homemade radio tower - it looks like it could all collapse at any moment.

“Home sweet home, eh?” They ask, hiding a smirk under their helmet to see if Sandy has any visible reaction.

[tigersand-archive]

NORTHWEST ZONE 05...

[noiseshow]

Pony’s handshake is gentle, and lingers a little more than it should. They take note of his pulse being elevated but a steady rhythm, and they’d be able to monitor it on the drive. “Oh, honey,” they speak gently - hating to be the bearer of bad news, “you don’t know the half of it, do you? Dracs, crows, whatever’s nearby, they can smell the blood for miles. I’m pretty pricey, and now you’ve met me, you’d be going straight to the tube and reprogrammed. Can’t have you thinkin’ nice of us, can they?”

They tap the seat of the bike, a mismatched painted leather displaying a pattern of coloured circles, featuring the evil eye quite heavily. Thick stripes of pink paint echo those of Sandy’s helmet. “Bring what you like, darlin’-“ They place their helmet on and start the engine, ready at the first sign of trouble, “-you might wanna take a souvenir from the plane, just in case you don’t see her for a while. BL will probably recover anything worth taking.”

[tigersand-archive]

NORTHWEST ZONE 05...

[noiseshow]

Pony chuckles, relaxing their stance and offering a hand to shake. "I've had worse," they feign a sigh, "and thank you, kind sir..."

At the beginning creak of the fall, Pony switches their positions, so they are nearer the plane and blocking what they can. "I'll give you a real check-over at the station, but we have to go, they're like flies on a corpse when somethin' makes a rumble."

They bring the bike around, and invite Sandy to get one with them. "Your little hat should do nicely as a helmet, but you can wear mine if you want," they shrug nonchalantly, "today, honey, we've only got a couple minutes and I don't wanna deal with a tail."

[tigersand-archive]

NORTHWEST ZONE 05...

[noiseshow]

Pony keeps a little distance between them, satisfied he's not going to keel over.

"Residual fuel can light, especially around shredded electrics and a burning engine, I should know," they huff, crossing their arms over their chest. "It's Pony, from the radio. Do you feel alright? You look shaken up, but not much more, you good for the journey?"

[tigersand-archive]

NORTHWEST ZONE 05...

[noiseshow]

Pony follows the uptick in aerosolised dust and the smell of burning. An unintentional smoke signal was good for location, bad for destination. This guy could be seriously hurt, and it'd be such a shame to lose such a pretty... voice.

Eventually the sound of burning and embers appear in the smoke, glimmers of light above the wreckage. Looks like one hefty insurance job.

They abandon the bike a safe distance from the plane should it take a turn for the worse, and head toward the yelling man, stunned at the fact he's hanging out under a burning plane. the first move is to grab his shirt and yank him away from it.

"Are you crazy? You know there's a fuel tank, right?" They ask, utterly bewildered, and with the likeness to a worried schoolteacher.

[tigersand-archive]

NORTHWEST ZONE 05...

[noiseshow]

Pony had what looked like a long night ahead of twiddling their thumbs. Busywork. Babysitting the waves should anything go awry. Everything's been so quiet lately, they're grateful for the lack of casualties but there's nothing ever as boring as a job seatwarming in a drafty shack.

A rumble disturbs them in the middle of winding back tapes. Wonderful, they thought, not getting their hopes up for action just yet. It could be Destroya waking, if they were lucky, but he could wait for a properly cared-for casette.

They check in on the frequency, wondering what all the fuss was about. A flurry of reports pour in, all talking and asking about a UFO - some convinced a missile, some convinced divine intervention. A sticky note over a speaker read "Sandy - scheduled flyover."

"Oh no..." they breathe, knowing what an absolute nightmare they could be heading towards. They collect information about the rough touchdown point and head out on a bike, first aid gear in tow.

[allaboutrings]

Instagram.com/trademarkantiques

[viejospellejos]

[noiseshow]

“So nice to finally put a face to someone I’ve heard so much about.” - 🦚🧿🎱

@deathtoglitter

Pony smirks gently and lets their boa drop to drape gracefully between their elbows. They slide into the seat across from Malcolm and extend a silk-gloved hand in his direction, opera length for the occasion. They’re clearly at ease, this is their stomping ground, their kingdom as far as the eye can see.

“Just as nice to put a name to a face I’ve seen so often,” they purr in response, “how may I call you?”

[deathtoglitter-archive]

Malcolm takes a drag from his cigarette, a small smile curling on his lips. "Oui, and let's keep it that way, hm? I don't want they and I turning into the latest gossip on the waves."

They don't seem all that bothered by the fact that Pony knows, but they glance around as if to make sure nobody overheard. "Of course," they reply. "And thank you- if you're talking about a few nights ago, it turns out a fortune teller is quite in demand for the new year."

[noiseshow]

“I’ll take it to my grave,” Pony replies coolly. They’re eyeing Malcolm up and down, almost studying them. “Fortunes, eh? Interesting, but no good... I already know mine.”

[noiseshow]

“So nice to finally put a face to someone I’ve heard so much about.” - 🦚🧿🎱

@deathtoglitter

Pony smirks gently and lets their boa drop to drape gracefully between their elbows. They slide into the seat across from Malcolm and extend a silk-gloved hand in his direction, opera length for the occasion. They’re clearly at ease, this is their stomping ground, their kingdom as far as the eye can see.

“Just as nice to put a name to a face I’ve seen so often,” they purr in response, “how may I call you?”

[deathtoglitter-archive]

"Just about anything is fine, darling," he answers, shaking Pony's hand. "Sugar Pill, Stunt Girl, Nancy, Starlet, or make something up- whatever you'd like."

Pony seems more at ease here than most of his clients- it's a breath of fresh air, not having to console someone panicking about a crow having crossed their path weeks prior. "So what are you here for?" he asks, tilting his head to get a better look at them. "I quite like the gloves and the boa, by the way- the colors suit you."

[noiseshow]

“Ah, we have a chameleon...” they remark, “Starlet... Mad Gear’s amant secret? He’s very fond of you...”

Their grip is firm and steady, more of a squeeze than a shake, they release him and relax back into the chair.

“Thank you - and you were attracting quite the crowd the other night, I wanted to see what the fuss was all about. Seems you’re quite the charmer.”

[noiseshow]

“You know what? I like you.” - 🎱🦚🧿

@deathtoglitter

“You were thinking otherwise?” Pony asks through their teeth, an eyebrow cocked as they light the cigarette in their mouth. It’s more for looks than anything else, and they offer Malcolm their silver zippo.

“Don’t worry,” they chuckle, “I like you more than I did at first.”