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My Little Pony Guar
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My little pony guar,
my little pony guar,
too cute for your own good!
My little pony guar,
my little pony guar,
I'd catch you if I could!

Running around
oh so trusting and sweet;
I want to kill you
for your Guts and White Meat.
(Guts and White Meat!)

My little dead pony guar,
my little dead pony guar,
you're still so cute somehow.
My little dead pony guar,
my little dead pony guar,
what shall I do with you now?

I'll stuff your dead body
with Red Mountain ashes;
and then I'll glue on
some Nix Bristle Eyelashes.
(Nix Bristle Eyelashes!)

My little stuffed pony guar,
my little stuffed pony guar,
so huggable and dear.
My little stuffed pony guar,
my little stuffed pony guar,
I'm happy with you near.

How can I bear
to keep you all to myself?
Some lonely Dark Elf child
needs you up on her shelf.
(Up on her shelf!)

My little pony guar,
my little pony guar!

My little dead pony guar,
my little dead pony guar!

My little stuffed pony guar,
my little stuffed pony guar!

My little
pony
guar!

They caught him, of course. Valis knew they would. His leg was still bleeding and it reduced his run to an awkward hobble, the wet slaps beneath his boots echoing clumsily down the alleyway. He was thankful that they gave him the extra few minutes, for what it was worth. It let him feel a brief flicker of satisfaction, the childish glee of Hah, almost!, before they emerged fast from his right and slammed a knee into his gut.

He doubled over without resistance, pain burning anew at the edges of his mind.

It was over, but Valis struggled anyway. It made for a better show. His face hit the stone despite his angry scowl, and he squinted as the ruffian holding his hair slammed it down twice more for good measure. The taste of iron ran over his tongue.

Spitting, aching, finally still, Valis groaned, “Was that necessary?”

He felt fingers tightening on his hair and stifled a yelp. “Shut it.”

Ah – the Nord. Of course. Antonius wouldn’t let someone else do the heavy lifting, and he certainly wasn’t going to do it himself. Valis had always wondered what other people felt as he watched the Nord’s column-sized arms crush the life out of them. Now, he was about to find out.

He didn't quite know how to feel about it, though.

The Dark Elf heard, then saw, the approach of leather boots. “You were always such a pain, Valis,” sighed the newcomer.

Valis strained, lifting his red eyes.

Antonius gazed down at him with cold indifference, and, from the awkward angle, the elf thought it looked like the boss was smiling. Almost. There was nothing to smile about with what transpired between them. If anything, Valis only hoped it would be a quick death.

Hope was a strange thing.

The Imperial sat on his haunches, tenting his fingers between his knees. His gray stare was deep and unreadable, like the sea before a storm. “I tried to tell you, Valis. I dare say I was very, even unreasonably, polite about it. Isn’t that right, Black-Shadow?”

“Very polite,” echoed the Nord.

“And, yet, here we are.” He swept his hand across the shadows of the alleyway with a reverence that baffled the Dunmer. There were no gods, Divine or otherwise, here. “All the potential you had snuffed out like a candle because you had to break the rules.”

“I – ” started Valis, but his retort was cut short with a jerk that snapped his chin up, turning his words into a groan.

“And now you’ll die, all alone, your corpse so bloated that even the beggars won’t bother to avoid stepping on it. Like the scum you are.” He tilted his head, and this time the smile wasn’t hard to discern. “Such a tragic end. The Empire really ought to take better care of its orphans, wouldn’t you say?”

“Poor things,” noted Black-Shadow.

Valis’ heart thumped wildly in his chest. This close to the inevitable, sense left his head – a feather caught in the gale of reckless abandon. “Just do it, then,” he spat.

Antonius feigned offense. “Not even regretful, are you?” He leaned close, tapping his hand hard against Valis’ cheek. “Good – because, truth be told, neither am I.” A snap. “Black-Shadow.”

Breaking his neck would have been so much quicker, so much less painful. It always looked so sudden. But, like his father, Antonius was never known for his mercy. The Nord hooked his arm across the elf’s neck. It felt like a collar of ebony – and it was only getting tighter.

Odd, the things you did when death was at your feet. Valis knew it wouldn’t do him any good to resist, was even quite resigned to his fate, but his fingers dug into the hard skin anyway, his lips twisting in a desperate scowl. His mind raced frantically, directionless. What was he supposed to think about? Should he feel remorse? Ask for forgiveness? Were his final few seconds doomed to be so anticlimactic?

An unfamiliar sound ghosted past his lips. Valis turned his gaze on Antonius. The Imperial observed the whole thing with disinterest foremost and a hint satisfaction, bordering dangerously close to joy, second.

Joy. Joy. For whatever reason, the sight of that rampant emotion broke something in Valis, a something that he once thought was so strong, so indestructible. He realized then he didn’t want to die.

Realized it a little too late, perhaps.

A vacant, painful fire burned in his chest, in his head, in his limbs. Darkness made its slow crawl into the edges of his vision. He wanted to say something, one last riposte, but without the presence of air, his voice had abandoned him.

Abandoned – yes. Everything seemed to abandon him. His parents, his acquaintances, his voice, and now his life. What a funny thing to think, he thought, as his eyes closed shut.

The last thing he heard was the guard’s shout at the end of the alleyway, and then he sank, all too willingly, into the dark.

Oh, the doodle. Made me chuckle. Great drawing too!