“Do you think Void Cowboy and Armsmaster will be okay together?” Taylor said doubtfully.
Miss Militia sighed as she looked over her Harley. “My training as a member of the Protectorate ENE would have me say that both are intelligent individuals and that Armsmaster is a well-trained and highly experienced leader of both the Protectorate and the Wards and should be able to handle any… contingencies that arise.” Satisfied with her inspection she pulled the bike off its kickstand and wheeled it around.
The little lavender unicorn standing next to her gave her an arched eyebrow. “Uh huh. And now that we know what your training would say, what would YOU say?”
Miss Militia grunted and rolled her eyes as she mounted the motorcycle. “Don’t miss a thing, do you,” she said. She sighed.
“Well?”
“I would say that they at least won’t kill each other, and whatever mess they do get into is going to make for some hilarious candid video,” the patriotic-themed heroine said. “Hop on.”
Taylor brightened visibly. “Oh, a sidecar? They actually made that for--”
“Yup,” Miss Militia said. “PRT wanted you and Void Cowboy to be seen riding shotgun with the ENE’s two heavy hitters. Armsmaster, and me. We’re hoping to give any would-be pony-nappers second thoughts.”
“Pony nappers??” Taylor hopped into the sidecar, landing neatly foursquare.
“With your abilities, either of you would be an irresistible target for most gangs or villain teams,” Miss Militia said soberly. “It’s the reason general practice in the Protectorate is to run up the flag, make a big fuss over the newest recruits--”
“Mark your territory,” Taylor said.
“Crude, but yes,” Miss Militia said. “Before he joined Kid Win had a few narrow escapes, a couple of snatch-and-grab attempts. We made a VERY big deal about him being a member of the Wards, and letting the local criminal community… and other groups like the Yangban--- know they’d better keep their hands to themselves. It’s a good motivator for us to parade you in front of the cameras at every opportunity.”
“The fact that we’re adorably marketable doesn’t hurt either, does it,” Taylor said, her voice wry. She looked around “Is there a seatbelt in this thing…?”
*****
“Wow, I get to ride with you?” Void Cowboy squeaked. He pronked in place. It couldn’t be helped, it was adorable.
Armsmaster’s lips turned into a thin line. “Yes, for the immediate future.”
Void Cowboy galloped in a circle around Armsmaster’s trademark motorcycle. “This is so cool! And oh wow, you added a sidecar just for me, didn’t you--”
“Actually its a retrofit of a sidecar I made to carry extra equipment and never used, but--” Armsmaster started, but gave it up. It was interesting he supposed that associating with Void Cowboy was starting to teach him far better than Dragon’s ‘social interaction lessons’ had about when continued talking was fruitless. “Yes. Just… hop aboard.”
Eagerly the colt hopped into the sidecar and sat up with his forehooves resting on the front of the cockpit. "C'mon, let's see what this thing's got!" He said, mashing his hat down firmly on his head and adjusting his visor.
Armsmaster repressed a sigh, and got aboard.
*****
In minutes they were out on the streets, cruising along at a steady pace, and Armsmaster fuming on a slow burn. He would never use the phrase "street cred" in an actual sentence, but he knew what it was and he knew his was getting burned up like butter in a blast furnace. It was bad enough having to patrol the streets with that 'granny car' stuck to the side of his motorcycle like a mechanical tumor, he was doing it with a cute and cuddly cartoon pony riding shotgun.
Who insisted on waving excitedly at everyone they saw. Who were having a ball waving right back....
He knew deep down he didn't really hold a grudge against Void Cowboy for it. It would be like getting angry with a cocker spaniel puppy. Still...
"So, what're we doing today. Investigating a crime? Trackin' down some perps?"
....He could be incredibly annoying.
"No, we are not, quote, "Tracking down some perps." We're running a standard patrol designed for P.R. and morale purposes to establish a continued presence in the city at large." Honesty pushed him to go a touch further. "We may be stopping by some locations to speak to some of my personal informants later."
"Oh, uh, okay." For a minute or two there was no sound but the whine of the turbine engine. "... Sooo, uh, do you mind if I put on some tunes?"
"The Armcycle does not have a commercial radio or music player."
"Then what are all these buttons and stuff in this sidecar...?" Void Cowboy began poking at the dash in front of him with a hoof.
"Stop that, you haven't been rated on using that equipment!" Armsmaster barked.
"All right, jeez!.. can I at least use my DVD player?" He started poking at his saddlebag.
It couldn't be seen, but Armsmaster's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "You put a DVD player in your saddlebags?"
"And you didn't?" Void Cowboy shot back. He began bobbing and tipping his head in the manner Armsmaster had come to associate with the ponies using their HUD. "Here, I'll run it through my external loudspeakers for ya--" music, in rather high fidelity, began emanating from Void Cowboy's saddlebags.
"You don't have to--"
"Oh it's okay, I don't mind." Void began bopping his head in time to the music.
Armsmaster could feel the enamel slowly grinding off his teeth. "The music is a distraction..." he said, a little less than patiently.
Void Cowboy waved a hoof around, indicating the immediate vicinity. "From what?" he said. "Rolling down Main Street, looking pretty?" Before Armsmaster could sternly interject he pressed on. "You know, for a guy who's living the dream you sure don't seem to have a lot of fun."
Armsmaster was so flustered he brought the motorcycle to a halt. "Living the dream?" he said, ignoring the honking traffic around them. He felt his temper rise. "Hero work isn't fun and games--"
"Yeah yeah yeah, iz srs bizniz, I get it," Void Cowboy said dismissively. The traffic honking began mixing with swearing; Armsmaster started the motorcycle moving again. "But come ON! You're sitting there in your cool-ass powered armor, on your cool-ass super-futuristic motorcycle, patrolling the city to fight crime--- you can't tell me you didn't dream of something like this ever since you were a kid!"
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Armsmaster stared at him, expressionless.
"Well? Come on, doesn't it get your blood pumping a little? It does mine." He stood up in his seat. "Two heroes, united in the never-ending battle against evil--"
"Remain seated while the vehicle is moving."
"--Ready to face anything the city throws at us!" Void Cowboy finished, his forehooves planted on the sidecar dash, staring into the wind, his chest thrust out. "You gotta feel that... just a LITTLE bit, right?"
Armsmaster stared straight ahead. For a long moment he remembered the dreams of a twelve-year-old kid with a mountain of comic books and stars in his eyes... "Sit down, Void Cowboy," he said finally. Pouting, the pony space-cowboy sat down.
The relative silence, save for Void Cowboy's music player, stretched on. The song switched and Void Cowboy brightened. "Oh, this is a good one," he said. "I don't usually listen to a lot of country, but this one song is a hit. Here, let me turn it up--" the music got louder.
"Void--!" Armsmaster gave up. He stared straight ahead and focused on the road.
Then Void Cowboy began singing.
Well a man come on the 6 o'clock news
Said somebody's been shot, somebody's been abused
Somebody blew up a building, somebody stole a car
Somebody got away, somebody didn't get too far yeah
They didn't get too far...
He had a surprisingly good tenor.
To Armsmaster's surprise he felt his mood lifting. He realized his toe was tapping inside his steel-shod cyber boot. He let Void Cowboy sing the next verse. Then, without even realizing he was doing it, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, he joined in at the chorus.
That justice is the one thing you should always find
You got to saddle up your boys, you got to draw a hard line
When the gun smoke settles we'll sing a victory tune
And we'll all meet back at the local saloon
We'll raise up our glasses against evil forces singing--
And then together, in two-part harmony:
Whiskey for my men, beer for my horses!
He realized he'd never heard the song before, couldn't possibly have known the lyrics; yet here he was singing and harmonizing with a pint sized talking pony, not missing a beat. Some of the people on the sidewalk laughed and clapped along as they cruised past; at one intersection several people actually started singing along. He saw smiles on people's faces.
And what it was doing to HIS mood--! It had been years, decades since he'd felt this way, a little wide-eyed boy watching those old westerns, imagining that someday he could walk into any no-account saloon in the West with nothing but a shining gun and a shining star, and whip every cattle-rustling sidewinder in the place.
We are so getting Master-Strangered when we get back to base, he thought. But for now... for now I think I'm rolling with it.
They rolled up to Armsmaster's first stop, one of his regular sites for fishing for information; a bar and grill known as the Boar's Hat that sat just close enough to downtown to be more or less reputable... but sat close enough to the intersection of the three city gangs' territories that the staff and regulars managed ot pick up bits of interesting scuttlebutt from lips loosened by cheap beer.
It couldn't have been more perfect. They parked, dismounted and strode through the saloon doors just as they reached the final verse--- "....And beer for my horses!" --- and strode up to the bar as if they owned it. Armsmaster standing next to it, Void Cowboy hopping up on a stool and planting his forehooves on the bartop.
The place was nearly empty save for one waitress and the barkeep, who both applauded as the song ended. "Hell, Armsmaster," the barkeep said laughing. "Never woulda figured you for a baritone!"
Armsmaster felt himself coming down rapidly off of... whatever that had been. Master Stranger Protocols for sure, he thought glumly. "Hello again, Whitey," he said, trying to pull the remains of his dignity around himself. "Just doing my regular swing by."
Whitey, a beer-bellied fellow named for his shock of snow white hair, scratched his snowy locks and chuckled. "Kinda wondered if you'd be by," he said. "Heard you were busy with new recruits." He nodded at Void Cowboy, who was busy getting all sorts of attention from the cooing barmaid. (And all but wagging his-- no, he actually was wagging his tail as the pretty barmaid rubbed his nose.)
"Yes. Ahem. Allow me to introduce the newest inductee to the Wards, Void Cowboy," Armsmaster said. "Now, you were saying last time that the Merchants were making overtures--"
"Wait, this is Void Cowboy? The one that kicked the snot out of that bastard Lung?" Whitey's face split into a pumpkin grin. "Holy crap, Elsie, we got us a genuine hero visiting today!"
"Omigosh," Elsie said. "I saw that-- wait, I thought it was the purple one who did that," the barmaid said.
"Naw, naw," Whitey said. "That one put the hurt on those kidnappers." Whitey chuckled and waved grandly. "This is the one what faced down that summabitch Lung and put a permanent footprint in his ass. Or hoofprint, that is." He cackled.
"Oooh, ain't you a brave little thing!" She cupped Void's cheeks in her hands and gave him a peck on the nose. The colt grinned goofily and came within a hair of falling off the barstool.
"Now that was a man's work," Whitey proclaimed, fishing around under the bar. "And it sure as hell deserves a man's drink!" He came up with a dusty brown bottle and a beer stein in his hand. The glass hit the counter with a clink. He popped the cap off the bottle one-handed and poured the golden liquid inside into the mug, and set the foaming mug in front of Void Cowboy.
"Wow, uh, Thanks!" Void reached for the stein with both hooves.
"Hold it!" Armsmaster said. Void froze. "Void Cowboy, you know better." Void sat back and stuck out his lip in a sulk. "And Whitey, you know better too..Buying or selling alcohol for a minor--."
"Oh come off it now, boy," Whitey said. "He ain't buyin', and I ain't sellin.' So them laws don't even apply. What you think this is, the Eighties?" He was right, actually. One of the many changes caused by the advent of Capes-- and of the Endbringers-- was that America had become flooded by refugees from both Asia and Europe, who had brought along their more relaxed attitudes about age and alcohol consumption. Certain legislative bodies had been forced to unclench their sphincters a bit on the issue.
Still...
"He's a Ward, he's my responsibility, and he's on duty," Armsmaster said stubbornly, to much rolling of the eyes from the colt. "Void, give back the beer."
Whitey put his hands on his hips. "And who was it that gave you YOUR first congratulatory beer after you busted those cocaine dealers singlehanded?"
"That was then, Whitey, and this is--"
Void Cowboy suddenly went stiff and pointed a hoof at the picture window at the front of the building. "Holy cow, is that HOOKWOLF?"
"What--" Armsmaster spun on his heel, halberd at the ready.
GLUG.
When he turned back around, the beer stein was empty and Void Cowboy was sitting there with his hooves folded in front of him, looking as innocent as he possibly could. Which wasn't very much with beer foam all over his muzzle. "You didn't," Armsmaster said dully.
Whitey gawked, then roared with laughter. "He shotgunned it!" he bellowed, slapping his own belly in mirth. "One shot, and ker-CHUG! I ain't never seen the like...."
Armsmaster glared at his delinquent Ward. Said Ward just looked back and smugly licked the foam off his muzzle. "Learned to do that with a rootbeer float," he said. "You would'nt believe the icecream headache right--"
At that point things took a drastic turn. His eyes and cheeks bulged, and his face began turning an alarming variety of colors. Wordlessly he scrambled down off the stool and hoofy-danced in the middle of the tile floor, looking about frantically.
"Oh dear," Elsie said. She pointed. "Down the hall, first door to the left--" Void Cowboy shot off in a flurry of hooves, skidded around the corner and disappeared. Whitey laughed so hard he nearly choked.
Armsmaster sighed and followed his wayward Ward's trail. "I'll be right back, Whitey," he said. The bartender just laughed and waved him on. Armsmaster found the still-swinging door to the men's room; an incredible number of unpleasant sounds were emanating from within. He rapped on the door with one steel knuckle. "Are you all right, Void Cowboy? Do you need any assistance?"
"NAh, I-- hurp-- got this one covered," came back the sarcastic, if wobbly reply.
There was a pause. "I was under the impression that horses could not vomit," Armsmaster said.
Void Cowboy staggered out, looking seriously worse for wear. "Well, Myth Busted," he said. "Aww man that was awful..."
There was a commotion, shouting and furniture being toppled. Armsmaster whipped around and raced back to the front. He stepped out of the hallway to find both Whitey and Elsie standing against the walls, hands raised, as two scraggly men carrying shotguns-- Merchants, to judge by their ragged clothes and dissipated appearance-- waved their guns around and yelled for Whitey to give them the cash out of the till. He deployed his halberd and his riot shield in an eyeblink. "PROTECTORATE! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" he barked over his loudspeakers.
The two spun and saw him. "Aw SHIT" was the most coherent thing that came out of them. Either too startled or too addled to re-aim, they opened fire, still aiming at their hostages.
Armsmaster got himself and his shield between the gunmen and the civilians just as the guns went off. The woman screamed as buckshot ricocheted off the bulletproof Tinker plexiglas and into the floor. Whitey sank to the floor, clutching his chest, Elsie clinging to his arm. The two Merchant junkies scrambled backwards out the front door. Armsmaster started to pursue, but took one look at Whitey sitting on the floor, white as a sheet, and halted, mentally cursing. He deployed several first aid scanners and dialed 911 on his comm. "911, this is Armsmaster, we have shots fired at the Boar's Hat on Fifth and Elm, one man down, possible heart attack--"
"COME BACK HERE YOU SONS A SIDEWINDERS!" Before Armsmaster could grab him, Void Cowboy went galloping past, snorting in fury, and dove out the front door in hot pursuit. This time Armsmaster swore out loud. He was going to twist that Ward's ears off--!
To his unadmitted relief he heard the roar of a poorly-maintained engine and the squeal of tires: the perp's getaway car, he presumed. At least his idiot Ward wasn't running straight into a shoot-out... then he noticed the engine roar wasn't fading in the distance. And the tires were still squealing...
"Are you all right?" the sensors and meters he'd deployed said it wasn't a heart attack, but he wasn't 100% sure.
Whitey nodded. "Yeah, yeah," he panted. "I think so. Just scared a year off the end of my life, the bastards," he said.
Armsmaster nodded. "Stay here." He got to his feet and charged out the door after his Ward.
When he got outside he tottered to a halt, blinking. There was a rope of some sort stretched across the street-front parking lot. At one end of the rope was the presumed getaway vehicle, a banged up old pickup truck, engine roaring and tires shrieking as it spun out to no avail. At the other end of the rope was Void Cowboy. He was clutching the end of the rope-- no, lariat-- in his teeth and digging all four hooves into the street with all his might. His hooves had dug grooves into the asphalt. As Armsmaster watched, the tiny pony took a step backward. Then another. Then another.
Inch by inch, he pulled the rope back till he reached a utility pole, looped it around and tied it off. "Let's see ya tow THAT off, ya dipsticks!" He yelled.
After several more seconds of trying to drive off with the Brockton Bay Electric Utility system tied to their bumper, the two would-be banditos finally gave up. Not until after both back tires had blown, of course... Armsmaster calmly walked up beside the crippled vehicle and rapped authoritatively on the driver's side window. (In their haste to flee they'd left their shotguns lying in the middle of the tavern's parking lot.) "I believe it's in your best interests to surrender," Armsmaster said, his voice amplifier putting a little extra bass into it.
Slowly the windows rolled down, and the two junkies stuck their hands out in surrender.
