Pony Boot Camp — Part Fifty-Nine

Steal the Look

With Zero-One’s taste on my lips I sent my thoughts out again into the dark, onto those well-trodden paths of my escape scheme. The ease with which I had obtained the coil of wire had made me confident that I could salvage my ponysuit, if it really was my suit that I had seen in the chest. All it needed was good timing and a bit of dare. Not that there was much of a choice. Even when completed by the non-hoodie (a “noodie”?), my DACC-issued clothes were too thin to keep me warm at night, especially during rests. Yep, I would have to rest in between crossing heavy terrain at night, and I would prefer doing so without running the risk of hypothermia – or gleaming like a snowman.

Pony Boot Camp — Part Fifty-Five

Weird Turned Pro

Dawn would not come lightly. After the near-perfect disaster that had been last night I woke from a mockery of sleep more exhausted than I had ever felt. Half-dreams filled with Zero-One’s sobbing, with thorns and haste clinged to me as I dragged myself to the little fall-in. An invigorated Kandrin gloated over our misery, yet spoke no word of the incident. She did not have to. Judgement would be upon the red-haired girl come eve.

A Dance in the Cage

 

A Dance in the Cage

You know the girls dancing in those cages at clubs? Sometimes on a pedestal, sometimes suspended over the raving crowd? Ever wondered how they ended up there and what makes them move all night?

Despite the allegedly soundproof glass Bianka felt the vibrations at her eardrums, in the pit of her stomach, in the tip of her pen. The bass pounded its way through every structure, item and living being in the whole building. It was the heartbeat of the club, and with the small hours of the night being near it was hammering wilder than ever. If the owner, manager and icon of Club Noir were to turn around from her desk, she would be able to overlook the main floor through the glass wall of her office. She would see the fetish folk celebrating its own depravity, loosing itself in the dark world the legendary Bianka Schönfeld provided. A world of masks and collars, of monogloves and hobble skirts, where leather was the new lace and black the new black. To the left the long cool-lit bar ran in a wide arc alongside the clubbing area, which in turn bordered at the right on the VIP lounge. Further in the back the entrance to the lower levels awaited those in search for more titillating activities. The rooms for this spicy kind of entertainment were soundproof, for sure.

Pony Boot Camp — Part Thirty-Nine

Rubberise It!

As expected I was haunted by nightmares. Most scenes blurred into intangible phantasms of blood and screams upon waking. One dream sequence remained clear: me running about the camp and the waterfall, desperately trying to find Ten’s clothes.

At precisely early as fuck o’clock we were standing in the dark and cold for the little fall-in, our group leader facing us. A light yet persistent rain was coming down, and Kandrin wore a DACC issued rain cape far too wide for her small frame.

“Better get used to the weather. Autumn in these regions is fickle.”

She kept fighting with the rim of her hood, which again and again fell over her eyes.

“But what’s a bit of rain, right?”

Dorei

Dorei

Box

The box had arrived just in time. Nakamura’s two “gentlemen” went to work unloading it as soon as the garage’s roller shutter had closed behind the inconspicuous white delivery van. One of them I knew by name: Tanaka, a ridiculously muscular bloke in an ill-fitting jacket. He was beyond any doubt capable of dragging the box alone. Hence his scrawny new colleague was rather latching onto the wooden crate while it was pulled out of the van.