Stay away from Glory [Full]

>you are anon, and you are conflicted
>on the way home from work you encountered a homeless whorse with a sad little cardboard sign naming her prices
>20 bits everything caught your eye the most
>you very briefly considered being a good guy and giving her 20 bits, the "anything" being taking her into your home and feeding her a bowl of eggs
>you shake your head and approach
Hello. So, you're a...
>the mare looks up at you with wide eyes, perhaps never having even seen you before despite your fame
>she blinks and turns her tired glance down
>"Are you looking to... partake in my
services?
>You try to think morally before dropping twenty bits next to the sign
>the sex was rough but ultimately pleasureable, despite you not being very experienced in horsefucking
>you actually had some condoms in your wallet for emergencies, so there was that
>you had taken her behind some bushes near a lake, the chirps and calls of the wildlife an odd playlist to your grunts and moans
>upon finishing, you walk with her back to her box where she lies down, panting
>you dig into your pocket into fish out another twenty
>she raises an eyebrow, which you thought was rather cute-looking
...Thanks.
>you mumble like an autist, turning around to go home
>perhaps you'll visit her again tommorow
>so you do
>every evening on the way home from work you stop by the homeless mare- Morning Glory.
>and every evening you fuck like rabbits
>eventually, you stopped departing so soon after each visit
>you stuck around a bit longer every day, sitting with her by the box
>talking and laughing
>she was a city mare who was kicked out of her orphanage upon turning eighteen
>she was alone, with no one to turn to and no one to trust
>her body was all she had left, so she sold it
>she was a traveler of sorts, moving from place to place in hopes of luck glancing her way
>apppleloosa, canterlot, even the crystal kingdom- you name it, she'd been there
>you liked to listen to her talk
>she reminded you a lot of yourself when you first popped up in this foreign land
>friendless, with the ponies regarding you as something like a trained tiger- docile at the moment, but you can never be sure if it'll go nuts
>only difference was that you started a successful massage and spa company while she became a street prostitute
>go figure
>along the way you started seeing her less like a common prostitute and more her like a genuine friend
>with the number of bits you made daily, you could afford to give her a few "bonuses"
>the first was an umbrella and some blankets for the cold nights
>then a few nights at a fancy hotel, where you fucked her silly and ate chocolates
>then a nice little tent to replace her shitty old box
>perhaps you wanted to be a good Samaritan for once
>or perhaps it was because you loved the way that she squeaked with delight, gave you a big hug, and begged you to rut her whenever you got her something new
>the uncomfortable, anxious sessions of sex that came with hiring a hooker off the sidewalk slowly turned into long, drawn out passionate moments with this wonderful mare, Morning Glory
>sometimes, you arrived at her tent to find her dirty, teary-eyed, and covered in spunk
>you always helped clean up the mess in silence, with the mare avoiding your gaze
>her prices had gone up, and you could tell she got a lot of visitors
>though she always kept the price at twenty for you
>oddly touching, in a way
>one day after work, you made your way to her tent as per usual
>only this time, the flap wasn't open
>you lean next to the entrance and listen in, hearing quiet sobbing
Glory? It's me, Anon.
>the sobbing pauses, replaced by snifffling as the tent moves about
>the flap unzips just a bit, enough for the sunlight to seep in and reveal a crying mare sporting quite the shiner
>your blood runs cold
>none of her customers have ever hit her before
>you know one thing about the guy who hit her:
>you're gonna kick his fucking ass
Glory, what's his name?
>you ask, raising your hands and tilting her head closer to assess the damage
>she shakes free of your grip, turning her head down and staring at the ground like the first time you met her
>"Anon, please. I- I don't want anything bad to-"
>unlike the first time you met her, this time you softly push her head back up and look into her good eye
Glory. Tell me, please.
>she bites ber bruised lip and closes her eyes, sighing
>"Steel Grate. He- he's always drinking at that bar on Shine street." She turns back to you, clasping your hand in her hooves. "Anon, don't go after him. I don't-"
>you have a name and a place
>you turn around quickly, intent on finding this Steel fellow and teaching him a lesson
>before you can break off into a run, Glory catches the tail of your shirt
>"An- Anon, please!" she cries, pulling you back with surprising strength. "Please, I don't want you getting-...getting hurt..."
>she blinks away a few tears
>you contemplate this for a second before slipping her hoof away from your shirt gently
I value you a lot more than my own safety, Glory.
>you don't think you've ever actually cared about anyone this much before
>much less anypony
>you leave for the bar, Glory watching forlornly as you walk away
>the bar was hard to miss, a small smoky establishment smack dab in the middle of the usual bright and eye-catching shops of Manehattan
>you step inside, the smoke outside nothing in comparison to the foggy, foul-smelling air in the bar
>rowdy stallions in booths hoof wrestle and drink cider
>a jukebox in the corner is playing some sad-sounding country song
>you walk up to the bar, tapping the counter to get the barkeep's attention
Hey, bud. Where can I find a colt named Steel Grate?
>he shrugs, polishing a glass with his unicorn magic
>you roll your eyes and slam a few bits onto the counter
>the barkeep motions to a particularly loud group of stallions clearly drunk off of their asses
>you march over to them
Excuse me, which one of you is Steel Grate?
>the group of stallions continue their drunken laughter and don't even notice you
>you clear your throat and ask again
Which of you guys is Steel Grate?
>once again they fail to acknowledge your presence
>you slam your fists on the table, knocking over some bottles and turning every bar patron's attention to you
>the sad country song keeps playing in contrast to the silence of the ponies
Where the fuck is Steel Grate?
>the biggest of the group stands up abruptly, the scraping of the chair against the wood floor grating to your ears
>he stumbles over to you, leaning right into your face. "Who'sh ashkin?"
A friend of Morning Glory.
>the stallion laughs and turns to his companions. "The whorshe? A good rut if I've ever had 'un."
So you did hit her, then?
>you ask, fists clenching so hard it hurt
>the stallion turns right back to you, staring up at your face. "Maybe I did, maybe I did'n. Whatsch it to ya?"
>you've heard enough
>gritting your teeth, you slam your fist so hard into Steel Grate's face that the skin on your knuckles starts bleeding
>he flies to the ground in one hit
>getrektkid.jpg
>his bar mates stand up instantaneously, some jumping over the table to get to you
>the quickest one tackles you in the stomach, knocking the air out of your lungs
>he runs you into the bar counter
>you cry out in pain before grabbing his head with both hands and giving his face a good 'ol knee
>panting as you wipe the blood off, you look back up to the other stallions
>before you can react a hoof knocks you straight in the chin
>you knees buckle but you stand your ground
>the stallion that punched you swivels around and aims for a buck
>you step to the side right as he kicks, his legs coming into direct contact with the bar counter
>he grunts in pain and falls to the ground
>a stallion to your side grabs a bottle off the ground, smashing it on the side of a table
>well, fuck
>you survey the situation
>Steel Grate and two of his guys are down, but there's still one colt unarmed and another with a bottle in his mouth
>maybe you should've brought a knife
>you grab the stallion who kicked the counter by the shoulders
>he grunts in surprise as you lift him over you head like a barbell
>mustering your strength, you hurl him at the unarmed colt, knocking him over like a bowling pin
>the colt with the bottle charges from behind, but you twist around fast enough to pimp slap him to the side, cutting up the back of your hand
>he glares for a split second before running forward again like a knight with a lance
>you attempt to dodge again, but you only succeed just barely
>the bottle grazed your side, cutting straight through the fabric of your expensive jacket and giving you a nice cut
>you manage to kick out your leg hard enough into his side to wind him and spit the bottle out
>with a primal groan you rear back and fireman kick him in the jaw, sending him crumpling to the floor
>you pant heavily, staring at your handiwork, when a kick to your back launches you straight into a table that cracks in two
>you have barely enough strength to keep your eyes open, though your vision is blurred
>A hoof lifts your head up from the ground and slams you into a wall
>while trying to push yourself up off of the ground your vision clears just enough to catch the sight of Steel Grate, standing over you menacingly, blood pouring out of his broken snout
>"Thish all for that whore?!" He growls, accentuating 'whore' with a kick to your ribs
>the sickening crunch lets you know a few just got broken
>"Yeah, I hit 'er a few. So what?"
Shu...th..fuck u-
>you can barely mutter out a few words before he bucks you in the shoulder, knocking you back into the wall
>"You care for 'er or shomthing? Care for a whore?"
>you still try to get up, despite the broken ribs and shoulder
>you don't bother answering
>you don't have an answer, anyways
>still, you try your hardest to get up despite the mind-numbing pain
>you promised Glory you'd kick his ass, after all
>he watches you struggle, a big, stupid grin on his face. "No, you don't care for 'er..." He shakes his head in disbelief. "You fuckin' love 'er. Fell in love with a damned whorshe."
>you're on your feet, but you don't have enough gas left to stand by yourself and lean on the wall
>"How 'bout we shee how she likes 'ya..." His grin grows larger. "Broken!"
>he raises himself up for one last finishing hit
>with the last of your strength, you stumble out of the way and knock over a table
>with the adrenaline pumping in your veins and fury in your eyes, your good hand takes hold of the nearest bar stool
>Steel Grate turns back around, annoyance evident on his face
>Roaring like a tiger, you swing the bar stool like a baseball bat, ramming it into his face like a major league player
>it explodes into a million splinters upon impact, split apart by the sheer force, bits and pieces flying in all directions
>you toss the broken leg of the bar stool to the side and bend over Steel
>picking him up by the neck, you hold him up close to your face and grit your teeth
>his blackened eyes widen with pure, unadulterated fear, his snout and mouth pouring a torrent of blood
Stay...the fuck...away...from Glory.
>you loosen your grasp on the stallion, finished
>he falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes, exhausted, injured and quivering with fear
>you look up and see the barkeep and several groups of stallion watching you with shock etched onto their faces
>digging three fifty bit coins out of your pocket, you flick them at the barkeep
>staggering out of the bar in what you imagine was a suave manner, you promptly collapsed on the sidewalk
>you awaken to the sight of a sterile white ceiling and the beeping of medical machines
>to put it bluntly, you feel like shit
>you attempt to sit up despite the pain in your side
>propping yourself up against the wall, you take a good look around your hospital room
>your bed is right next to an open window, a nice breeze and the morning sunlight of Manehattan to greet you
>heart monitors, IV drips, bandages, the works
>you were an utter mess yourself, casts and bandages lining your numerous injuries
>but these weren't what you were paying attention to
>because there she was
>Morning Glory
>sitting at the foot of your bed, sound asleep
>a trail of drool ran down her mouth and her mane was disheveled and askew
>her black eye wasn't completely healed up yet, and the other side was underlined by dark circles
>but there in that hospital room, with the light shining in through the window and the overwhelming feeling of having her there upon waking up
>she couldn't be any more perfect
...Glory?
>you murmur softly
>the mare stirs, opening her eyes slowly and smiling at the sight of you awake
>"...Anon..." She sighs, huffing in relief. "You have no idea how worried I was when I went looking for you and I saw the bar totaled..."
Well, I'm fine now.
>"I was even more worried when they pointed me to the hospital..." her smile softens. "And I saw you all banged up like this..."
If you think I look bad, check up on the other guys.
>you both chuckle, though it hurt to laugh
>as her giggles subsided, she looked at you
>"I couldn't believe it when they told me. Polite, sweet Anon taking down five stallions."
Well, I wasn't about to walk away from the guys who hit you.
>"I guess that was why I was so surprised," Glory says, looking distantly at your casts. "I...Well, no one's ever cared about me enough to do that before..."
>you blink at her and frown
Glory.
>"Hm?"
I think I love you.
>her eyes widen slowly and her mouth opens
>then she closes her eyes and bits her lip
>a tear escapes, sliding down her cheek
>"Anon," she whispers, "I think I love you, too."
>all you could do was smile