Holstered My Gun, But I Ain’t Dun Runnin’ Yet!! // Dreadnought #2

The chase was on.

The pirate sprinted after the horse, the heels of his tall laced-up boots splashing in puddles as he raced down the alleyways. The clouds were thick and grey, spitting down rain and hail heavily, hitting the floor with shocking force. The wind was harsh, the air was cold, the waves at sea a short while away crashed against the ships that docked in the harbour. The gale whistled over the water-top, bringing creatures you would wish to miss to the surface. A full moon hung in the sky, occasionally showering the rundown town with its pale light. Most people had retired for the night, escaping the biting chills and violent storms - but Keto Raequir is not most people.

Ripped, muted red coat billowing behind him, Keto skidded through the streets with narrowed eyes, hand tilting his broad hat down to shield his eyes from the rain. Hooves clattered against cobblestones in front of him, and in the corner of his eye, he could see people at the windows watching the commotion. A young man, in the middle of the night, chasing… a pony? It wasn’t even a huge, noble steed you’d imagine such a man to be on; no, this was a twelve hand pony, with a black-and-brown coat, that was currently dripping with rain water.

See, it’s important that we add some context for this scene, because it isn’t very trustworthy.

It had been late in the evening when Keto’s ship had finally arrived at the town, the evening sun fading behind the hills as the renowned Captain Keto gave the order to go and relax. At the sight of the imposing ship, The Orca’s Saber, had sent many of the marketplace merchants fleeing. It was the victim of many stories, tales and threats, the most popular being a ballad called The Orca’s Revenge.

It goes something like;

Over by the sea,

Down the Little Dawn Lake,

A cry goes out;

Down goes the witch!

And down there she goes.

The send her down the river,

They send her down the hillsides,

They send her down the little lake

That spits her out to sea.

But lo and behold, this tiny town

Does not see whom they host.

The Orca’s Eyes, the Killer Whale’s heart,

The rodents of the water.

The witch cried out,

‘I wish to wreak revenge!

I wish to carry out chaos!

Through dread and despair,

Their luck is nought,

I’ve holstered my gun,

But I ain’t dun runnin’ yet!’

And the Captain cried,

‘Aye, tis the way we go!

Ye won’t get far without us, wee one,

Join my crew,

And we can give ‘em The Orca’s revenge.’

It’s not particularly a good ballad, and nor is it very well-written, but the enthusiasm is what Keto enjoys. Granted, it was written when singing was more speaking rhythmically than singing nicely, and he likes to think he could rework it at some point. He remembers his father, Kotar, who was often sipping a beer, berating the writers that belittled his ship. He preferred to see it portrayed much grander than this.

The ship was taller than it was wide, built with detailed systems to hold just about anything it wanted, sinking just low enough to cover its sheer size, but gliding above water enough to impose against the others nearby.

The others did not include the little bay gelding, who had wandered ever so merrily up the pier, over the closed entryway onto the board, snatched a golden set of waist beads with sun emblems, and trotted back the way he came just as Keto came out of the lower deck.

He had tried his hardest to catch up with just a soft walk and some whispers, but the little pony was not having it. Not one bit. He took off in a trot, jingling as he went, and Keto - who had decided to indulge in the tradition in attempting to adopt one of these ponies - jingled with him.

‘Why aren’t you scared of me? Everyone’s scared of me. It’s part of the job title. Give me that back, please, pony,’ Keto murmured, tone showing how his patience was slowly waning. ‘If I can get things back from some of the nastiest that sail over the seas, I can get my belt decor back from a stubborn mule.’

At the insult, Dreadnought kicked out a back leg as he trotted away, snorting and throwing his head up, incidentally throwing the chain over his neck, letting it dangle over his withers and chest.

‘Ah! So you’re a thief and a show-off!’ Keto shouted, pausing for breath against a fence, panting. After a moment, he debated sitting down and just stalking after the pony slightly later, but no - an old man came flying out of her front door, waving his cane and yelling about getting off of his lawn - not that it’s much of a lawn - and sending Keto flying.

It was all well and good being in the sea when the mere sign of his cloak and sails would send someone over the side of their ship, but out here, he was nothing. And his crew? Probably at the bottom of a bottle in ‘The Cat and the Canoe’, the local pub frequented by various pirates or fishermen. Keto was a fan of it quietly; the drunkards paid well for a nice song and dance when he could be bothered to grab an instrument and sing a pretty tune.

‘Sorry!’ He shouted as he took off down the streets once more, tying his hair in a jog to keep it out of his eyes before going faster once more. The wind speed had previously dropped ever so slightly, but now, it had picked up again, biting at his skin and pulling tears from his eyes. It picked up his cloak and pulled the tied string undone, sending it blowing away over the rooftops. Keto muttered a curse under his breath, stamping his foot on the ground in irritation; today was just not his night. It got caught on a chimney, and just when Keto had figured out a way to climb closer, it flew off again. It landed with a subtle thud when the hail inevitably pushed it down, and the sound of a short snort and whinny came from beneath it.

‘Got you now,’ Keto mumbled, stepping closer, quietly, snatching his cloak from the heap of cob and trying to reach for the golden jewellery. The cob lay silently, watching him with careful eyes, snorting and pinning his ears back when he got too close to the accessory around his neck. ‘What? You territorial over someone else’s stuff? Give it here.’

The gelding swished his short, puffy tail quietly, snorting again, and if horses could be as expressive as humans, this gelding would’ve rolled his eyes and spat at Keto with nothing but annoyance. He reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a golden bell on an embroidered silver-and-black ribbon, watching as the lightly dappled sooty bay’s eyes seemed to gleam at the sight of it.

‘Some sort of magpie, eh? Mm, maybe we’ll get along more than I’d like to admit. You want this? I can give it to you, for a price.’ The captain narrowed his eyes, fastening his cloak back around himself (much tighter this time) and resting his hands on his hips. ‘Am I talking to a horse? Well, there’s stranger things I’ve seen people do. Whatever. You want this bell? Yeah? Well. That means you gotta gimme them suns, yeah? The whole chain.’

The gelding began to stand up, giving a full-body shake and splattering more rainwater over Keto with a surprisingly smug expression. He stepped closer and sniffed at the bell, just as the man with the brown-and-white hair lifted it above his head, standing on his tiptoes.

‘Hah. Tiny pony, can’t reach this now, can ya? Gimme that first. Deal’s a deal.’ He spoke sternly, reaching forwards and unclipping the link on the chain, shoving it in his pocket before stepping closer to his mane. Right at the base of his withers, Keto braided the black ribbon into the gelding’s mane gently but firmly. ‘You and I aren’t done, okay? I’m tellin’ ya this now. You better keep this bell on or I’ll have things to say. Savvy?’

The horse snorted once more, nuzzling Keto’s chest before turning on his heel and trotting off down to the beach. Left alone in his soggy white shirt and uncomfortable leather corset, the captain of the formidable Orca’s Eyes began to trudge back to the pier, shivering and clutching his cloak around himself. If people could see him now and recognise him as such a role, they’d laugh in his face - and possibly regret it. But it was too late to think of such things. Oh, sleep would be so nice right now… a warm bed, flickering candlelight, rocking on the waves… comfortable. But soggy.

‘Damn good job that pony’s really cute.’