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2021-05-03
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Longing

Summary:

From the moment he was born, Moxxie's parents knew he was special.

Notes:

After watching the Harvest Moon episode, I fell in love with Striker and knew I had to write something with him in it.

I also wanted to write Trans {or something similar to Trans} Moxxie. I'm unsure if Trans is actually correct in this situation but I didn't know the right term for what I'm trying to portray. Please, feel free to correct me in the comments and I will fix the fic accordingly!

I don't own Helluva Boss, all rights reserved to Vivzipop. This is all headcanon, I don't claim any of what I write to be accurate to the story.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: strangers in a bar

Chapter Text

From the moment he was born, Moxxie's parents knew he was special, different.

To start, the midwives were insistent that they were having a girl. For months and months, they had been sure. So Lexxon and Revi prepared for a baby girl. They didn't buy pink clothes and hair bows for their daughter, no. Being part of the Wrath Ring, they were farmers and sure as Lilith was the mother of demons, their little girl would be one too.

But they prepared in other ways.

Strong female names they would choose between when the time came, small and nimble weapons for protecting herself when she got older as compared to the larger and sturdier ones parents typically got their sons.

So to say they were surprised when a small pair of the typical thick stripes of male horns greeted them through a mass of fluffy white hair was an understatement. The midwife, just as confused as them, handed their child over and stated that their child, despite the horns, was infact female.

Despite their initial shock, Lexxon and Revi welcome their daughter with happy tears and open arms.

The Hellborn couple raise their daughter as a farm hand; strong, quick, and, most importantly - independent. By the time she is three, she carries conversations better than most adults, at five she can bale hay faster than any machine, and at ten she can skin a boar with more precision than her parents.

As she ages, she resents her mother's thin, looping horns and their delicate white lines and how they compliment her curves and small size. Her own horns are thick at the base and curve backwards to a sharp point before curving down and backwards. So very similar to her father's. They seem oversized and comical on her small frame but... They're the only part on her that feel right and seeing them mixed with her thin frame and short stature bring emotions forward she isn't sure how to process. She doesn't understand what these feelings are or how to make them go away.

She ignores it for years until it no longer bothers her. At least, not in the gnawing, burning way it used to.

It's only when she hits her teens that she really interacts with other kids her age outside the farm hands that assist during the weekends. This is when her parents start to give her a handful of cash, send her to town for trivial errands that are finished within an hour, and tell her to be back in a timely manner, allowing her to keep the extra money left over as a treat for her work during the week.

The first interaction she has with another female imp outside her mother is during her twelfth outing of this nature. She sees the other girls horns, smooth and long but with equal sized sections of black and white - so much like her own that she feels reflexive tears well in her eyes - that she runs up and blurts the first thing that comes to mind before she can think about how rude it is.

"I've never met another girl with horns like mine!"

That might not have been the best approach because the other girl yelped and dropped her cigarette before bolting into the bar behind her. She stops short of the steps leading to the wrap around porch of the small wateringhole, toeing the old wood with her worn work boots.

A soft hum left her throat as she glanced around nervously. Technically, she wasn't allowed in places like this. Her parents and TV had burned it into her brain that bars were dangerous and inappropriate for young… girls like herself, and all it would lead to is trouble.

But…

She needs to ask that girl about her horns, she's never seen another girl like herself. Gritting her teeth and growling, clutching her fists tightly until claws pierce soft flesh and draw blood, she stomps up to the door with a furiously whipping tail.

Shoving the doors open, the music quiets suddenly and multiple heads turn to look at the newcomer. With so many eyes on her, a soft whimper leaves her throat and her tail wraps around her leg as she slowly creeps her way inside. The door slams loudly behind her when she's no longer in the way and she yelps, jumping forward while looking behind her.

Her eyes close instinctively as she collects solidly with a wall, a warm and breathing wall. Before she can register that walls aren't warm nor do they breathe, hands are on her shoulders to steady her when she jumps once more and, subsequently, keeping her from eating shit like the embarrassment she's turning out to be. 

"Damn little lady. Should be more careful where your goin'." A gentle voice rumbled from above her, surrounding her and making her feel safer than she's felt around someone in a long time. Which is odd because normally strangers make her more anxious.

Looking up, neon yellow eyes meet glowing yellow green eyes with two thin forest green rings around the pupils in the shadow of a wide brimmed hat and white hair. Her eyes flicker between his, vaguely registering his lifted eyebrow and tilted head, as she stampers for an excuse.

"O-oh, crumbs… um… I'm sorry. I've… never been…" she slowly untangles herself from his arms as she gets her footing back. "Uhhh thank you for catching me erm but I'm looking for someone?" She ends her statement as if it's a question, eyes scanning the room of imps for the female she saw outside. She just barely resists the urge to jump, but she knows it would do no good.

"Well… what's this someone's name?" The stranger hums, eyes staying glued to her. "Maybe I can help ya?" She titters out a short, nervous laugh.

"I don't know, I saw her outside and I just wanted to talk to her about her horns but I think I startled her."

"Her horns?"

"Yeah... I just have a few questions about... for her... They're unique is all..." She gave a small, awkward grin.

"Hm," his eyes flick upwards from her eyes then back down. Recognition fills his eyes and he snaps. "Sounds like you mus' be talkin' 'bout Fletcher." He removes his gaze from her finally and, using his height to his advantage, he sweeps over the room a few times in search of the previously mentioned imp. After a few seconds, he smiles and looks at her once more. "Found your girl, darlin'. Right o'er there." He says, gently taking her face between index and thumb, and angling it to the far left where a figure was sitting at a corner table among a group of boys. She can barely make out the other through the throng of bodies and taller individuals.

"So why d'ya want to talk to 'er about 'er horns? What d'they gotta do with ya?" The stranger asked, causing her to flinch. A hum followed his question along with a grimace. "You don't gotta answer that. Was rude. Speakin' of rude, I ne'er introduced m'self. Names Striker." A long, pale pink and white tail whipped around from behind him, drawing her attention while she shyly provided her own name. Her eyes slowly, and not nearly as discreetly as she thought she was, trailed up the long appendage to the six spikes at the base, all them them just barely poking out past the others body.

Long tails were a good sign in imps. The longer the tail, typically the more fertile or healthy the imp was. And the presence of spikes, especially so many, indicated strong bones. The barb at the end of his tail was the same length as her forearm and her face flushed when she heard his low chuckle.

"Erm, thanks. I'll just… yeah…" she muttered and picked her way across the floor, squeezing through spaces between people until she was standing before the table Fletcher was at. Her eyes barely went over the top of the table and she grit her teeth, clambering into the empty seat across from the other girl. Thankfully the others that were with her had left so they had a small semblance of privacy.

"I'm sorry to follow you in here like this but…" she slowly released a breath. "I've never met another girl with horns like mine. Are you like me?" She finally asked. At the slightly confused look she was given, she elaborated. "I was... born with the wrong horns. And I don't know…" she trailed off, looking down at the table and scratching at the old wood with a distracted claw.

"I'm Trans." Was the answer the other girl gave her, her voice soft. Her head popped up and her eyes widened comically, lips parting as she mouthed the new word. ""S a surface term but it means, in layman terms, I was born as a boy but I ne'er felt like a boy. I always felt better being called Fletcher 'stead of my birth name, my deadname. I always felt better, happier bein' called a girl instead of a boy. I knew from a young age." She paused and twisted a ring on her finger. "Ma wife, at the time she was just another stranger I barely knew, was actually the one who helped me realize who I am."

"I'm sorry I ran when you came up to me earlier. I had an argument with my ma yesterday about... doesn't matter, but I've been jumpy e'er since. I don't mind talkin' if you have questions."

"No! It's okay. I shouldn't have run up to you and yelled like that."

Fletcher smiled warmly at her and leaned on the table. "It's alright. Now, you're clearly feeling at least a lil like how I described." She tilted her head and pursed her lips. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, if you're feelin' this way."

"But how will I know if it's the right decision? What if I'm just confused right now and I change my mind later?" She asked, standing in the chair and leaning on her palms as she spoke. "What if I'm supposed to be a girl and my horns are just wrong? I was raised as a girl my whole life. What if my parents get mad?"

"Yeah but what if you're supposed to be a boy? Just because you're raised a certain way doesn't mean it's right for you. If ya don' feel like you're supposed to be a girl then tha's your minds way of tryna tell you that." Fletcher paused, her yellow eyes flicking between the others. "H'long you been feeling this way?"

"Couple years..." A lifted eyebrow answered her. "More than a couple, I guess. Maybe six or seven?"

A hum. "And how're ya?"

"Seventeen."

"Well… sounds to me you're old 'nough to make this decision, and you've been thinkin' 'bout it a while. It's not your parents life to get mad 'bout." She pushed her chair back and slid from the chair. Envy coiled in her gut at Fletchers height, her confidence in herself. "I been this way for ten years. My mama is still tryna get me to change my mind, says she cries herself to sleep near nightly thinkin' about how she lost her 'son'. You can't always please your parents, hon. Their job is to raise you to be your own person and so long as ya make decisions on your own and own up to them, they should be proud of you in the end. Just, don't let someone else make the 'cision for you. It should be somethin' you decide yourself. See ya 'round."

With that, Fletcher waltz out of the bar. Her eyes followed the other imp with a Hellfire hot longing. Only once she was gone from sight did she realize the stranger from earlier, Striker, had swaggered over and was now leaning against the chair beside herself.

"Come on, darl'. Lemme give ya a ride home. You've had quite the day."

With a dejected sigh, she nodded and hopped from the chair.

Chapter 2: horsin' 'round {part 1}

Summary:

"Hey now, careful with them hands. What ya're doin' might be considered foreplay."

"And what you're doing with it isn't?"

Notes:

I know very little about horses and pigs. I don't know if that's obvious or not from this but, yeah. I tried to do research and kinda gave up.

This chapter kinda got away from me....

 

Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

As they step out of the bar, she looks up at him with a nervously lashing tail. She barely reaches his ribs in height and it makes her grit her teeth. She's always been short for an imp, especially for a female one -or whatever she is, her talk with Fletcher brought new hope and she's feeling lighter, emotionally, for the first time in years- and seeing an imp as tall as Striker has feelings she isn't used to bubbling in her chest. He's taller than her parents -both of which come in at two heads with no horns taller than herself easily- and she wonders, idly, if he sees her how she sees herself, treats her how he does, due to her height; pathetic and small and weak.

The calling of her name right in front of her nose brought her back to her senses and made her jolt, realizing she'd been zoning out.

"Sorry little darl'. Didn't mean to startle you, jus' you've been starin' off 'nto the distance for a few minutes and weren't respondin'." He moved away from her face with a grin, sitting back on his haunches so they were closer to eye level and draping his arms across his knees. "What time you gotta be home?"

"My parents just said to get home before tomorrow. They trust me to make… sound decisions and know I can protect myself."

He hummed softly with a head tilt. "So… you got a few hours til they're expectin' you?" She responded with a hesitant nod. "Ya're welcome to say no, I am someone ya just met but… Ya wanna see somethin' cool?" Another nod, this one less hesitant and followed by a grin. "Follow me, then." He stood to his full height and made the short journey to the stables across the road. She scampered her way after him, short legs having to take five steps to his one.

Following behind, she oh'd and ah'd at the different breeds of horses lined up inside the stables, slowing to pet the snout of one with a dripping, swampy mane. A sharp whistle caught her attention and she ran to catch up to Striker at the other end of the building.

"Sorry! My parents are hog farmers and only have the standard skeletal horses for when the fence needs fixing. The only time we have horses,  like flesh and blood ones, at the ranch is when the farm hands ride in on weekends. It's just a treat to see so many different breeds all in one place!"

"Oh, is that so?" The other asked with a smile over his shoulder. "Well then, this should be good for ya." He pushed the gate to the last stable open and stepped back as a bright light made its way forward. She gasped aloud at the sight before her.

The horse had short and sleek, dark gray and black fur. It's chest and underbelly as well as the mouth looked to be made of lava, bright orange in color with red and yellow highlights that pulsed and moved with the creatures heartbeat, the orange at the throat hanging from the body in a way that made it seem like it would drip onto the floor at any moment. It's nose and four eyes were deep red while the mane and tail were proud, tall blazing flames. Protruding from its mouth were four fangs and instead of ears, it had two straight backward, jet black horns.

"Oh wow! A Night Mare! How did you get one?" She gushed, staring at the horse from a respectful distance. She'd heard that Night Mares were real terrors around people they didn't know. It's head lowered for pats and all four eyes closed in appreciation when she approached and gently started to stroke it's snout. "So well behaved too!"

"The ranch I been supplyin' my help to the last few years 's a horse breedin' farm," he hummed. "and you gotta have a permit to breed these guys so most people don' bother… least not legally. They mostly stick to other, less... temperamental, breeds and only recently got into Night Mares when the government reached out about helping repopulate. They're goin' extinct 'n the wil'. Bombproof here is one they produced two years 'go and decided they be keepin' him as a workin' horse. 'Tween you and me, though, I've grown attached to him, and may have to talk to my boss about working extra shifts for a few years so I can buy 'im." Striker said softly as he stroked the neck of the stallion affectionately. "I've been working with 'im near daily for since he was born, buildin' his trust in me and other imps alike."

She strokes the underside of the horses jaw gently, smiling warmly at the way the beast lowers his head even more into her hand. "He's sweet. You've done a great job with him!" She complimented.

Striker hummed in acknowledgement, watching her from the corner of his eye. Feeling his eyes on her has her cheeks burning gently. She isn't used to people giving her attention, not outside of work things at least. Glancing up at him, he smiles at the darker tone of her cheeks and lifts himself into the saddle. "Come on darl'. This ain't the 'something cool' I was talkin' 'bout." He bends so his body is half draped over a knee and offers her a hand. 

She takes it after a moment and he hauls her onto the saddle in front of him easily. At her somewhat annoyed glare, made less intimidating by her bright cheeks, he snickers. "Sorry, darl'. Ya're a lot smaller than me, think you'll fit better up front. 'Sides, don't think you wanna be sittin' on my tail spikes." A pause that forces the slowly fading blush on her cheeks to reignite, turning her white smattering of freckles a cute shade of pink. "'Less ya're into that kinda thing then, please, by all means." He grins as his tail whips around and shakes before her, a soft rattling following the motion. She crosses her arms and huffs, turning to sit forward. "Real shame." He sighs with amused, fake disappointment before his tail wraps around them both twice. "I was lookin' forward to it." She's pulled flush to his torso and he grins at her surprised yelp.

"Don' look at me like that. Wouldn't want'cha fallin' off and breakin' a pretty horn, now would we?" Striker laughs when she looks at him, the noise makes her face heat up again and her heart accelerates. Aside from rude comments about her body from ranch hands, ranch hands which she sets straight by breaking arms and ripping out throats with her teeth, she's never had a boy, anyone for that matter, give her attention. It makes fire tickle her organs and she tucks her chin to her collarbone, smiling.

She settles her hands on the tail around her waist as Bombproof moves per Strikers directions. Her fingers curl around the lithe, cord-like muscle as her thoughts overtake her. Is this just general curiosity and niceness this boy is showing her or is it genuine interest in her, as a person? Does he just want to be friends and is overly friendly with everyone? If it's interest, will he hate her if he finds out she may not be… entirely female? He knows about her horns, it's hard to miss them with the fact they're almost comically large for her body, but he doesn't necessarily know she doesn't feel right like this, that her horns are the only part of her that feel like the real her, whoever that is.

"Hey now, careful with them hands." A soft rumble sounds behind her and she gasps, looking up at the other. His attention is focused forward as Bombproof runs across the landscape. "What ya're doin' might be considered foreplay." It's a joke and she knows it is, can tell by his tone that it is, but something in her makes her bite back as she releases his tail.

"And what you're doing with it isn't?"

His tail tightens and his eye, the one she can see at least, widens a fraction. It's a mere twitch, hardly anything to note, but she still notices it and it makes her smirk, dropping her gaze from looking at him. He's like a big dog. All bark, no bite. She thinks with a snicker, a noise that causes him to tighten his tail another fraction and look down at her, though she is watching the landscape pass at blurring speeds and doesn't notice.

A few more minutes of silent riding, both in her head and between the two imps, before they arrive at Night Mare ranch. 

The sign above the gate has the words in neatly cut out metal and the likeness of a Night Mare on either side of the name. The gate is tall, towering far above anywhere near the height of regular imps. The fencing that branches off the main gate is tall as well, the top being lined with razor sharp looking metal twisting along the top. To keep people out or to keep the horses in?

As they rode through the main gate, it occurred to her that maybe she shouldn't have more or less ran off with someone she didn't know more than just the name of. Too late for that I suppose. She thought dryly.

 Bombproof slowed down and stopped just short of the stables. The particular building before them was short and stocky, as opposed to the other stables that were at least three times the width and five times the length. The doors had the likeness of Bombproofs breed burned onto them. Glancing at the others showed something similar on each.

This was not what she was expecting. As she opened her mouth to ask, Striker mystive heard her inhale because he spoke before anything could exit her mouth.

"Can only have so many on property at a time. Small building keeps their Night Mare herd minimal and makes them more manageable. When they have a decent 'mount of healthy, weened foals under five but over three, they call the Government or whoever, ship 'em off, and get paid a hefty 'mount per head.  Retire both stallions and mares after they've had two foals so the wild herds ain't full of siblings and cousins. Far as I seen, at least."

She made a noise in the back of her throat at his provided explaination. Movement around her stomach pulled her attention downwards and she was almost, almost, upset at the lack of heat. The soft sound of his tail rattling as the tip went past her and again as he slid off the saddle, made her tilt her head.

"Why does your tail rattle?" She asked as she took Strikers offered hand, hopping to the ground. Looking up, she met his gaze as he lifted an eyebrow. "Erm… I mean… how does it make the noise? I've never seen anyone with a tail like that, is all and I'm just, I'm curious...." She trailed off. "About your tail I mean."

Striker chuckled and walked towards the stables, tugging Bombproof along by his reins. "To be honest, I don't know much about it m'self. My parents died when I was young and I got sent to live with my pops family about three hours from here. None of'em looked like me so I think I get it from my old lady." His tail lazily whipped across the ground, rattling quietly, as he pulled the doors open. "I've been all o'er this Ring and I ain't seen anyone else who looks like me so I s'ppose she wasn't from here. Unfortunately I'll never know. Ain't on speakin' terms with none of them."

She followed the other as they walked, listening to his words with rapt attention. Orphaned young, sent to live with family he didn't know, unknown heritage. His life wasn't easy, it seemed. 

"What 'bout you, darl'?"

Blinking, she tilted her head. "I don't… um… What do you mean? I'm… nothing special; just your average Wrath born Imp girl with two hog farming parents." She shrugged, rubbing her nose as horse fur, hay, and a sickly sweet smell invaded her senses. Her eyes stayed trained on the imp before her.

"Oh come on now. You don' really think I believe that's it, do ya?" He glanced at her over his shoulder and caught her eye, smiling warmly. "S'alright, I understand. You don' gotta tell me. I know when to stop pushin'. 'Sides, you'll tell me when ya're ready."

With that, Striker led Bombproof into an empty stall, taking his hat and endearing cropped jacket off. Tossing the jacket to hang over the stall door and placing the hat on top of it, Striker began the process of removing the riding gear from the stallion. She stepped back and watched with an ah'd expression at the ease Striker moved about untacking the horse. What she's used to the ranch hands at her parents' farm taking thirty plus minutes, Strikers gotten done in ten. 

"Thought you wanted to show me something?" She teased. "Don't tell me it was a line to get me here just to watch you do this?" She tilted her head as she glanced at his hand, watching for a moment as he used long and slow strokes to smooth down the fur along Bombproofs flank, the horse eating something suspiciously wet from a bucket, before trailing her eyes up his covered arm and across his shoulders while his back was to her. When he shifted to glance over his shoulder at her, her eyes flicked up to meet his gaze.

"Nah. Maybe next time, darl'." He grinned before hanging the wooden comb up, walking back through the stall door and waving her along. She scurried after him, slowing only when he got to another stall on the opposite end of the building and stopped to open it. By the time she made it to the door he had disappeared through, he was already stroking the side of another, much bigger, Night Mare. "This is Magnolia."

Aside from her obviously larger size, her withers stopping above Strikers head, she didn't look much different from Bombproof. "She's gorgeous… and big…" She started, trotting up behind the taller imp. As she neared, she could make out a vague, twitching shape through the mare's molten stomach. It looked almost like… "Is she pregnant?" A nod. "And the cool thing is…" she gasped and suddenly stars filled her eyes. "Did you bring me here to watch her give birth?" The other grinned at her and nodded once more.

"They go into labor for a few hours, near twelve everytime, and then it only takes 'bout twenty minutes 'fore their foals are born. Maggie here is Maiden, never been bred before and her foal is big so I suspect this may take closer to an hour." He said, watching as she reared her head to nip at her opposite flank and switched her flaming tail a few times. "She's nearing the twelve hour mark at this point so it shouldn't be long." Striker gave her one last pat on the shoulder as he finished speaking before turning and looking at her, one arm dangling alongside his thigh and the other propped on his lithe hip.

They made eye contact and she felt herself squirming under his sharp gaze. "Erm so…. What made you decide you wanted to bring me here?" She asked, grabbing her own tail and twisting the appendage gently between anxious fingers. "Other than… the previously stated reason…" a nervous chuckle left her throat though it wasn't because she assumed he had bad intentions.

"Well," he started, "you seemed… your face was this mix of upset and relief after your talk with Fletch. My aunt pretty much beat hospitality into me while I lived there  and seeing that combination of emotions on your face, it, I don't know, made me decide you needed pick-me-up." Striker shrugged, walking away from the mare and over to stand closer to her and the stall door. "S'not a great reason but something just drew me to you. 'Sides," he threw her a smile that had her relaxing slightly. "I'm sure if you felt threatened by me, you wouldn't've agreed to come out here, and I'm sure you can defend yourself easily 'nough against me."

She turned to state at the ground when he finished speaking, toeing random designs into the dirt with the pointed boot tip. "Nobody outside my parents has ever thought about me like that… I suppose a 'thank you' is in order." She murmured, refusing to look up and meet his eye. She opened her mouth to say more, though she wasn't entirely sure what would come out, when the mare huffed loudly and promptly dropped to lay on the ground. She rolled over, from one flank to the other then back, got up, then laid down again . This continued for several minutes before 

"You in or you out, darlin'?" Striker asked, a small smirk covering his face when she paled. "If ya're in, I hope ya're prepared to get dirty. And if ya ain't, might wanna leave the stall and watch over the door. Gets messy with Night Mares." He placed his hands on his hips and watched as the mare, once more stood from rolling on the ground before ultimately deciding to lay. When it became clear that was where she was staying -though she had yet to lay on her side and instead lay with her legs tucked beneath her body- he dropped to a knee beside her and stroked her neck.

She wasn't a stranger to dirt or mess and she'd helped animals give birth before in the past, her parents were hog farmers after all, but something about a horse, especially one with a head bigger than her entire body, made the task seem more daunting. She hadn't planned to be whisked away by a stranger at a bar to help a horse give birth -who can really plan that, after all?- so her attire wasn't entirely… birthing friendly. Her old work boots, worn and weathered from years of continuous use, would work fine for this current job, but her mid-thigh shorts left much to be desired in terms of protection. Though, looking at Striker in his long sleeve button up shirt, of which he was in the process of rolling the sleeves up on, made her decide she didn't care if she got dirty for this. Unlike him, she didn't work on a horse farm so she may never get the chance again.

She was going to be here to see this foal be brought into Hell. She would help if needed. She'd just scrub down really well later.

"I'm in."

Notes:

As someone who's been around goats giving birth my entire life, I've never been around a horse and I'd be ecstatic to be given the chance to watch and potentially assist.

Fight me

Chapter 3: horsin' 'round {part 2}

Summary:

"Well, howdy! I'm Striker, pleased you meet ya. Oh, looky here. Say little darlin', it's bound to be a cold night, what say you and I head on o'er to that there hayloft and keep each other mighty warm for the evenin'?"

"Well, that's a mighty nice offer you've made me there, Striker darlin', and it's a hard one to resist, but I've gotta get this here pretty little lass on home 'fore her parents send the hounds after my tail. Maybe we can take a raincheck on rollin' in the hay for another cold night?"

Notes:

Just a small note, there is an animal death near the bottom. It's not described in detail but I still figured I'd warn just in case. There's also a few,,, targeted comments made by a character I don't care enough about to give a name towards Striker and Moxxie. Poor babies, can't catch a break.

Also. If anyone seems OOC, I'd like to remind that these characters are about 15 years younger than they are {assumed to be} in the show.

This takes place at the same time as the last chapter, I just needed to break it up because it was getting a little long.

Enjoy!

EDIT;; I've made a playlist for these two! Feel free to listen to it and add songs as you think fit in it;
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1XSVT3415ZtXMKOd3W5Rbl?si=usBOPO1yRVeCJqB20WNLhw&utm_source=copy-link

Chapter Text

"Glad to hear it darlin'! Now we'll give 'er 'bout thirty minutes to foal by herself. We should stay out of the way as much as we can. If she does it alone in that time, great! All we're here for is cleanup at that point." Striker started, standing once more and coming to sit on the small stool beside her. "If she starts to take longer or is strugglin', that's when it gets extra messy. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it though." Despite his calm tone, his tail lashed wildly and let her know he was anxious. "So, hog farmin'. What's that like?" He mused, turning to her. The sudden change in topic made her purse her lips.

"Well," she clasped her hands behind her and leaned back against the wall. "there's really not much to say. We don't… unlike horses, we breed the hogs purely for their meat. There's always a demand so we don't have the luxury of giving the mothers breaks between birthing or retiring them after so many breedings. We breed them until they're pretty much at death's door and then those are slaughtered and fed back to the other hogs and animals of the Wrath ring. Their bones are used to make new tools or to make jewelry for selling in Greed and Pride." She murmured. "I've been able to cull, skin, and prepare the meat of full grown boars since I was ten. It's repetitive and it's boring, as harsh as that may seem, and my parents want me to take over when I'm… 'ready', I guess. What that probably means is when I have a husband and a few screaming demons of my own, I can have the farm and they can retire." She made a face as she spoke of having children, as if the word left a sour taste in her mouth.

Striker stayed silent as she spoke, eyes trained on the mare but she didn't doubt that he was listening to every word she said. As she finished, he finally looked to her and gave her perhaps the softest smile she's ever seen an imp make. "That does sound pretty borin'. Can't blame ya for not wantin' to do it forever." He paused and gained a thoughtful expression. "What job would ya want to do, if you weren't expected to take over the farm?" Surprise must color her expression because he chuckles. "What? Not expectin' that question?"

"No, not at all. Normally when people ask me a question after I say I don't want to be a hog farmer, they ask what kind of farmer I want to be or if I'd rather just… give my husband kids to work the farm so I can relax inside and be a good housewife." She inhaled deeply. "I don't know what I want to do. I just know what I don't want." She slumped against the wall and slid to sit on the ground. When it's clear she won't be saying more, Striker speaks.

"I want to be a music writer and a singer."

Her head whips around to look at him, eyes wide with shock and a little bit of excitement. "Really?"

"Yeah. C'ain't play an instrument worth shit, tone deaf to Sloth an' back, and uh…. I c'ain't read music."

"W-" her expression turns to bewilderment. "What? Then why-"

"There's somethin' about the deep warblin' croon of old country, the soft smoky smoothness of jazz, and the deep thumping and rawness of rock that draws me in every time as if I've never heard it before. First time I heard somethin' other than the classical instrumental bullshit my aunt would play exclusively, I knew I wanted to do that too."

"I can teach you."

The offer leaves her mouth before she can catch it with her brain but at his dumbfounded expression that morphs into a genuine smile, she can't find it in herself to mind. Despite only knowing this imp for an hour tops, she feels a connection to him and a desire to know more.

"Ya sure? I've been told I'm a stubborn student."

"I'm a stubborn teacher."

"What'll I owe ya for these lessons, teach'?"

"...Friendship?" He blinks at her hesitant answer. "I don't really know anyone my age. There's the ranch hands but I've broken the hands and arms of more than half of them and ripped off chunks of flesh from the other halves. I doubt they want… anything to do with me."

"Uh…"

"Thinking they can touch me however they want because I'm smaller than them. They don't mess with me anymore and they keep themselves busy when I'm in the room."

"Oh… well, alrighty then. If that's what you want as payment, then I have plenty to give."

She glances up at him and breathes a sigh of relief. This isn't how she thought her night would go, in any way, but she's glad she stumbled into that bar chasing Fletcher.

She watches him as he opens his mouth to speak but before anything can be said, the mare reminds them why they're here in the first place. Magnolia gives a long, low noise of pain, her body now laying flat on her side and she watches with wide eyes as the molten stomach ripples and clenches with the movements of the foal inside. Striker is standing, prepared to rush over to assist if needed. From the angle, all she can see are two twiggy ankles and hooves poking out through the fire of Magnolia's tail.

"She needs a lil' extra help. Think he's a tad bit too wide at the shoulders." He picked his way across the stall to the opposite end and pulled something from the tacking cabinet. "What I need you to do is put these on and, gently, follow the legs of the foal to grab as close to the shoulders as you can. Both hands. When she contracts and pushes, you'll need to pull. You're simply here to make it so she don't kill her foal by accident or exert herself too much more." He explained on his way back to her, holding the items he grabbed out to her. Clear long gloves and a gallon sized pump bottle of lubricant. "When you're pullin', if the foal will not move forward no matter what, stop pulling and let it go, and tell me." He glanced at Magnolia as she panted.

"What will you have to do?"

"Call my boss, let him know. He'll come down and cut her open, extract the foal, and patch her up best he can. Never seen him have to do it with a Night Mare, not sure how it'd work with her..." he gestured vaguely to her lava like belly.

She opened her mouth, confusion taking over her expression, when Magnolia gave a pained noise and kicked her front legs weakly. She quickly slipped the gloves on, despite the fact they went to her armpits and wrinkled up, and cupped her hands out in front of her for Striker to pump the lubricant into them. "Uhh, so why do I have to do this? I'm pretty much untrained…" she murmured staring up at the pink imp.

"Well," he started, meeting her gaze as she rubbed her hands over each other and along her arms awkwardly. "Night Mares, in spite of their size, have small birthing canals and Maggie here is small for a Mare. Ya got smaller hands than me, it'll be easier for ya to get a grip on th' foal. In'a normal situation, I could do this m'self but at the extent I'd only be able to use one hand." Striker made a choking noise that sounded suspiciously like a bit back laugh when she dropped to her knees behind the mare. "I wasn't plannin' on ya havin' to do this when I brought'cha back here, honest." His tone made her look up at him; he sounded almost pained that the horse was struggling so much, and he was staring towards Magnolias face. He must've felt her eyes on him because he glanced down and smiled softly. "Workin' as a farm hand here has led to me developin' a strong bond with these animals; seein' them hurtin' doesn't ever get easier, no matter the reason."

She felt her eyes go soft at his explanation and nodded. It was nice to hear someone, especially a male imp, express real concern for these creatures for once. She, herself, was guilty of seeing them as just tools or food, and the stark realization made her stomach coil bitterly.

With a small shake of his head, he dropped to a squat beside her and gave her careful, soft instructions.

As gross as she knew it would be, she wasn't really expecting the foal to be so slippery. It took her a few tries, the horses pained keening every time she had to reposition or adjust her hands hurting her more than any wound she'd received from the hogs could ever, but she eventually got a good hold on the foal and helped Magnolia bring the filly into the world. For a few minutes, they both just sat where they were before making eye contact. A small chuckle left his throat at the sight of her covered in horse fluids and she followed behind him shortly after.

Slowly, the laughter died down and Striker glanced at the mare. "Wait. Somethin' aint right…" He murmured when Magnolia didn't do more than breathe shallowly after five minutes, not even to look at and check on her foal.

"Shit!" Striker cursed before taking off from the stall, leaving her covered in slimey goop and a wobbly little horse as her company. The elder imp returned ten minutes later with another, shorter male.

He hmph'd up at Striker after examining Magnolia. "How long was she like this before you came to get me?"

"Not long, Sir. Couple minutes, five at most," the pink imp stared at the ground with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, "I… I ain't seen a mare do this before after foaling and it startled me. I would've called but I left m'phone in m'jacket back with Bombproof and I di-"

"How many times do I have to say it?" He was interrupted with a sharp growl. "Mongrels like you aren't allowed in my home," he spoke slowly to Striker, as if speaking to a toddler, "you'll stink up the place with your vermin smell and ruin my flooring with your disgusting boots. If I have to tell you one more time, Strider, you'll be out of a job from here to Pride! Do you understand me?"

The taller stood perfectly still, not even his tail twitching, as he was talked down to by the fuming male. "Yessir. I understand perfectly."

"Good." He turned from glaring at Striker to look at Magnolia once more and spotted her, still on the ground behind rhe weak mare and sitting beside the now standing foal. "Oh. And who are you?" The man asked with an oily grin that caused her to lean away while shivers traveled down her spine.

She opens her mouth to reply, a snarky comment on her tongue, when Striker jumped between them and blocked her from his sight. "She's nobody, Sir. My cousin, visiting from Imp City. She'd never seen a horse and I didn't see the harm in bringing her by," he murmured, gesturing at her behind his back for her to stay quiet.

"A shame that something that pretty shares your half-breed blood; get her outta my sight. And Strider," he poked Striker in the chest, "I'll have a job for you when  you return. Dismissed."

"Yessir. Thank ya, Sir."

Dipping down, he snatched her arm and dragged her from the stall.

Only once they were back at Bombproof's stall did he slow, releasing her to speak softly while his hand scratching the back of his neck, refusing to make eye contact. "I'm sorry. I should never'a brought'cha here."

"Don't apologize. I had fun until your asshole of a boss started insulting you." She paused. "Is… that normal with him? To call you names and degrade you?" A shrug was his reply. "You shouldn't let him treat you that way. Nobody deserves to be called those things." She murmured, but chose not to mention the 'half-breed' comment. Not for now, at least.

"S'always been that way with 'im. He initially didn't hire me because of my looks but when the other farm hand he had was caught fucking his wife, he relented and tracked me down." He grunted. "The job pays well 'nough, that's the only reason I stay. Gotta save up to buy Bombproof. Once I got him, we're outta this place."

She opened her mouth to reply when a loud gunshot went off, the horse within the building all crying out in surprise at the noise. Her hands jumped to her ears and the weight of a body blanketed hers. For a moment, she thought Striker had been shot and released a breath when she heard him sigh shakily. "Guess there was nothin' he could do for her…" Glancing up, she saw him looking sorrowful down the stable to where they'd just left and it occurred to her belatedly that he have thrown himself over her to protect her from a bullet meant for neither of them.

Without thought, she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed him tightly. "'M sorry." She whispered to his stomach, face pressed against his ribcage. "This feels like it's all my fault…"

He said nothing, instead placing a hand atop her head between her horns and the other on her shoulder. They stayed like that for several minutes before parting.

"Whatll happen to the foal? I mean, since we can assume he... killed Magnolia. How will the foal eat without her mother to give her milk?"

"Night Mares eat raw meat. Foals aren't any different. They're pretty self reliant with out their mama, just weak and vulnerable."

They both staid silent for another few minutes, the somber mood killing any desire to really converse.

"Best be gettin' you home, 'fore your folks send out a search party." Striker said with a cheeky grin after a moment, as if nothing had happened. She simply nodded, not wanting to push, and let herself into the square room with the horse, the taller right behind her. Spotting the worn jacket of the other imp on the ground, she snatched it from its place and promptly slipped her arms through the sleeves. Due to the torso length being shorter than average, it fit her almost perfectly. The arms, on the other hand, were comically oversized. 

"What're you doin'?" Came a voice from behind her and she turned around with a small smirk.

"Well, howdy! I'm Striker, pleased you meet ya. Oh, looky here," she placed her chin in the crook between her index finger and thumb, leaning over casually with her other hand on her hip, "say little darlin', it's bound to be a cold night, what say you and I head on o'er to that there hayloft and keep each other mighty warm for the evenin'?" She snickered at his amused expression as he picked his hat up from the ground, dusting it off gently. He placed it atop her head and, while she was distracted looking upwards at it, bent himself in half and invaded her personal space with a smirk of his own.

"Well, that's a mighty nice offer you've made me there, Striker darlin'," he rumbled softly, "and it's a hard one to resist, but I've gotta get this here pretty little lass on home 'fore her parents send the hounds after my tail. Maybe we can take a raincheck on rollin' in the hay for another cold night?"

She felt herself blushing, turning her red skin maroon, as he cooked an eyebrow at her and ran a finger under her jaw so she was staring up at him. She heard his tail rattling softly and could see it was raised up and curling in amusement, and felt her own tail point straight down, tip between her ankles and quivering in embarrassment. She quickly slapped both her hands over her eyes, jacket sleeves obnoxiously flapping and draping with the movement.

"That's all right, darl'," he murmured, standing up straight and smiling as she peeked out at him, "I get that reaction sometimes. Don' worry, you'll warm up 'ventually." With that he plucked his hat from her head and turned to start retacking Bombproof, smiling over his shoulder when she shuffled closer to watch.