Part one can be found here
Another day dawned on you. You awoke, you stretched, and you groggily waddled to the nummie pile in the center of your home to collect your breakfast.
Your head thumped from the day previous. The dizzy water was not to be trifled with, it seemed; a lesson you’d not soon forget.
You ate your fill on plant and bin pilfered proteins. Not long after, you passed with delicate hoofsteps by Squeak and his partner, Scratch.
Unlike the petite and beautiful ray of sun that was Squeak, Scratch was big and green; borish to your eyes, with a black mane that trailed wild and unkempt.
Despite the difference in sex, he was practically your equal in build and size, but then again, your mummah always said that you were a big and strong girl, like your daddeh; the herd’s last smarty.
You didn’t care much for this toughy before you, curled up in slumber around your dear Squeak, and coiling about his soft frame like a covetous wyrm, hoarding a priceless jewel.
He had a tendency about him that filled you with conniptions of bitter pondering:
He lived for battle, but never cared for Mickey’s justice.
Yes, you have had your fill of violence when you were called upon to assist the toughies in the past, and like Scratch, you have played your part in repelling the forces of overzealous rival herds, by might, intimidation, and even diplomacy, if the stars aligned for it.
Unlike this brute, however, you knew when to temper your hate with mercy.
You fought hard and when you could spare it, you’d send the wounded opposition home. Missing a horn or wing, maybe, but you’d send them home alive; an act of kindness that both you and your smarty hoped would breed respect for your lot amongst the larger herds by the waterfront.
You snorted at him and walked on, squeezing through the hole in the brickwork, back into the daylight.
You had food to gather, thoughts to meditate, and scouting to do.
“Good morning, miss Sock~.” the vagabond from yesterday smiled, already up, already with coffee in hand from the nearby café’s garbage can.
“Oh, hewwo.” you sighed as you passed him by, kicking an empty soda can out the way as you did.
“You still feeling like shit?” he asked, leaning on the skip styled bin that he slept in, as if he owned the place.
“Shuddup.” you grumbled.
After a while, you heard the click and clack of his hole ridden shoes behind you, until he came to your side with a grin.
“I think I have you figured now, miss Sock.” he smiled at you again, before sipping from his styrofoam cup.
Suddenly, he gagged and spat the chunky brown liquid to the floor.
“curdled… fucking glorious.” he said, before going back to drinking it with a piss swishing grimace.
“Yeh?” you questioned with a raised brow.
“Yes, you’re a talkative little shit when you’re drunk, very emotional, very passionate~.” the tramp chuckled.
“At first, I thought that you were just thinking with your little cunt, but now, I’m not so sure.”
“Yew tawkies a wot, bu yew nu saysie aneh-ting dat Sock unastan. Yew tawkies wike dummeh.” you grumbled. It was far too early for this nonsense, but he was a fully grown human stallion, and you sure as all hell were not going to be able to outrun him, so you gritted your teeth and beared with his presence.
“love, miss Sock. Love is your motive, but love embitterns you, little mare.” he added with a more serious cadence.
“Mowe dummeh wowdsies.” you smirked at the big fool. He was trying to sus you out, and you were just along for the ride.
“I think the real retard here is the one who can’t confess her feelings, even to herself.” he retorted sharply.
That time, you actually understood what he was trying to say, although you didn’t like to hear it.
“Am yew gut weason dat yew fowwow Sock wound wike widdwe wost bebbeh?” you sneered as you both got to the edge of the derelict hospital’s parking lot.
“Because we’re friends.” he grinned widely, “And I might need to eat you if my busking goes to shit this week.” he added swiftly.
“Oh shuddup, yew nu am gun num Sock. Dummeh mistah nu can eben dwink dat poopie wawa.” you laughed, “an Sock gun taste eben mowe gwoss den dat.”.
“You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?” the hobo stated with crossed arms and a smirk.
“Nu, Sock am dummeh. Sock jus wan du jobsies an mayk smawty happies.” you answered, capped off with a punctuating and deep exhale.
“See, more fucking lying. Why can’t you just admit what you are. I don’t struggle to.” he said with a rolling of his eyes.
“Here, I’ll show you:
I’m a miserable cunt of a man, who never listened to his gut until it was too late, and now I’m going to die in that skip, penniless, wifeless, and alone; and if I’m lucky, I might die with a belly full of mouldy Greggs and homeless woman’s mouth around my unwashed cock.” he said with a confident smile.
“Your turn~.” he grinned, wide as a shark.
“Fine…” you squinted at the bin-side philosopher.
“Sock am dummeh mawe dat wan… Squeak.” you shyly admitted.
“Why?” the hobo said as he lifted you over the brickwork wall, before then jumping to the other side, and then putting you to the sidewalk floor.
“Is he strong?” he wondered.
“Nu, him widdwe fow stawwion. Aww gwown uppies wike Sock, bu smaww.” you admitted.
“So it’s got bugger all to do with power or strength, then.” the dirty man continued as he walked beside you.
“How’s his cock? It must be something rather special to keep your interest in such a small stallion.” he grinned.
“…Sock, nu kno. Nebah see himb nu-nu stick…” you grumbled.
“You’ve never tried to take a peek the-OWW, YOU LITTLE BITCH!” he shouted as you dug your teeth into his sandle covered foot.
“Nu!” you growled, looking up at him with your flat and blunt teeth still dug into his foot.
“You’ve got a strong jaw, you little shit. If you were one of those cannibals, I may have actually spilt some blood there.” he chuckled.
“P’TOOIE! Wy yew saysie ‘owwies’ den?” you squinted up at him after spiting his big toe from your mouth with a slight gagging.
“Because you bit my broken toe.” he laughed with a pained grimace, “you wretched little cum rag.”.
“Wy yew eben cawe wat habin tu Sock?” you asked plainly.
“Like I said: you’re my backup meal. It’s good to know where my food has been before I eat it; a luxury I’ve not had for three years.” he lamented with a grunt.
“Wiew.” you said plainly as you both made it to the alleyway that Mickey had requested for you to scout.
It was a long and relatively wide alleyway, and within you saw several fluffies with no filty to any of the larger herds; they’d have tried to fight you, mount you, and then kill you, otherwise.
“Hewwo?” you called out.
“Oh, umm, hewwo” a brown fluffy said as she lowered her head to you.
“Whewe yew fwo-… Oh?” you paused as you sniffed their scent. This fluffy didn’t smell exactly like a stallion, nor a mare. They were an oddity to say the least.
“Nyewt? peep whu am nyew fwend? peep-peep?” a little yellow colt asked, clearly fresh to see the world with new and wetted eyes.
“Shhhh, gu backsie tu nestie, widdwe bwuvah.” Newt sighed, turning to comfort their confused sibling.
As they turned, your eyes widened at the sight. This odd fluffy had the genitalia of a mare and a stallion, even breasts to-boot.
An odd sight. Mickey, your smarty, would be more than happy to take this little freak in; it’s what he lived for.
When Newt finally returned their attention to you, you offered safety from the roving herds of rapists and flesh eaters, and above all else, a stable roof over their family’s head for the coming autumn.
“Nyewt git miwkies hewe fwom bad hoomin wady.” they said, pointing their hoof to the Edwardian style pub that made up the walling of one half of the alleyway aboad.
“We hab mummahs. Dey shawe miwkies ib yew du thingies fow hewd.” you explained with the confidence of one who has had to have this conversation, several times, with many other concerned fluffies.
But you noticed that this stalli-mare froze with a blushed set of cheeks, wide eyes and a scrunched snout of revulsion.
“umm, wat wwong?” you inquired, utterly flabbergasted by the unique expression upon their face.
“NU! Nu gun join mowe cweepy hewds!” they stomped back with pinned back ears.
“Nu am cweepy, am twyin hewp ye-.” you tried to explain.
“NYEWT SAYD NU! GU WAY!” they roared and squeaked with fury.
You huffed and turned yourself around: wasted time, wasted effort, Mickey was going to be rather upset with you.
“I’m sorry that your little recruitment drive went arse over tit. Can’t win them all, I’m afraid.” the vagabond tried to console you as he threw his now empty cup of coffee over his shoulder.
“Sock nebah du.” you grumbled through your teeth.
You looked up and you watched the greasy mess of a man awkwardly rub the back of his head, before transitioning into scratching his chin with a ponderous expression.
“Want to play hooky? Come, sit with me while I busk in the town center. We might even be able to afford some fresh food tonight; that is, if the strings don’t break on this shitty old board.” he smiled softly, taking the ratty and beaten up old guitar from his shoulder strap.
“…Yeh, wy nut?..” you defeatedly sighed.
-To Be Continued-