Author's Note 1: Happy Year of Shadow! It's been a long time coming, folks. Have you eaten? Today marks the National Day of the Cowboy, and to celebrate this important date with a bang, I welcome you, fillies and fellas, to the première of a long-awaited story: the 10th installment of "Rivals with Benefits." After surviving the plague and an arduous fight against lumbago, I managed to add the final touches on a work older than my previous ones, written in 2022 and revised this year.
As the missing sequel to "Double Down" and prequel to "One Thousand and One Nights," this story puts an end to my series' first arc. Although I recommend you checking "Double Down" out for a recap before diving into this one, I'd say it can also be read on its own. If you are new to my works, this universe follows canon events and includes other media elements. Sonic the Hedgehog is 20 years old in this piece. Other mentioned characters are 5 years older as well.
"The Loop" is a western tale divided in four acts. It contains an exclusive music playlist that compiles every song playing in the background. Check the notes in the end of this work for more information. It's advisable to give it a listen!
It's time to explore the good, the bad and the ugly within Sonic and Shadow's dynamic. Whatever your favorite aspect is, put your hat on and saddle up for an intense and bloodied adventure.
Smoking a cigar over a fine glass of scotch may enhance the experience.
Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.
Peter 5:8
THE LOOP
And a Conversant Upsurge
ACT 1
White
He wasn't one for philosophy. Still, thinking was part of his method.
Practical. Pragmatic. He had a reputation for dealing with problems in an empirical form, rather than with abstract principles and tested theories. Assessing the truth within the results of musing for hours, or merely seconds, serves to build tactics and unravel patterns – handy tools for prediction and finding the best course of action, granting its user a perfect execution. And for an imposing feat as such, it's indispensable to search for knowledge of a particular kind. After all, an unidentified target is not so easy to find. On a solitary pursuit, a hunter must be on the lookout to sniff out its prey under restricted conditions.
The wind blew west.
He discovered the moment he had gotten there. The path to a successful hunt always starts with reading the area, observing anyone and everything that could be useful, whether as an advantage or an unfavorable weakness. With the wind blowing west, wild west, it was fair to conjecture he'd get the intel from the evasive informer before the sun goes down. Swirling an almost empty glass mug of ginger ale, Shadow remained looking over his shoulder, staring out the old, termite infested, swinging doors of the saloon as people had come and gone.
And beyond them... was the railroad.
Shadow's privileged view of the outside world resembled luminescent prison bars, through the courtesy of his brown, wide brim hat, outlined with a gold rhinestone fringe. The two openings on each side of the cowboy hat's band revealed his perky, yet semi-round ears, pierced with barbells, captive bead rings and studs in matching gold. Said earrings gleamed against the red-ish orange slow fade of the sphere lights floating above the bar, their smooth color transition inviting a warm atmosphere into the magenta and dark purple walls of the roadhouse, which no longer belonged to its previous mustached owner.
The dark hedgehog was stationed in Mirage Saloon Zone, located in the westernmost point of Earth, on a piece of land called West Side Island. Despite its natural reserves, the island had been invaded and transmuted by Dr. Eggman many years ago, leaving behind a myriad of industrial sites, chemical facilities and oil refineries – the closest just a few kilometers away from his current position. Mingling about, Shadow learned the vast desert featured many canyons and rock formations, dividing populated areas while luring tourists in, thanks to the main railroad and the now active trainyard. The promise of shelter and unbridled pleasure with no bounds certainly contributed to the exodus of residents from Tranquil Gulch and nomads alike.
So, welcome to Mirage he was, in search of answers on a long-lost shithole.
The western saloon wasn't like anything Shadow had experienced before. Its colorful, playground-esque ambit transversed the landscape, accommodating totem poles, wild tapestry and part of the vegetation and exotic flora, in and out of the establishment. It was also known as Dust Hill, as a lime neon sign implied, hanging slightly over the stage where a rock band played behind grids of protection, saved from enraged and overly excited patrons' thrown objects. The hedgehog had sat on a stool in front of the bar, its tall shelves displaying a bunch of decanters and gallons in varied shapes, all mixed together with the ice cream parlor and some illicit stimulants. Biting on a crunchy plain cone, Shadow scrutinized the ample zone, spotting venom vials, barrels of multiple alcoholic beverages and pinball-themed gimmicks, reminiscent of the Doctor's prior control. Those included bumpers, bouncy sky-blue piano key platforms, loop-de-loops, flippers and giant revolvers and seltzer bottles, helping clients reach further distances. All unused, it seemed.
Because the zone was also a whorehouse, specialized in providing limitless services from mobian and human strippers and sex workers to any species at the saloon. There were other sources of entertainment beyond the live music stage and the simultaneously loud jukebox, like gambling and owning up to dangerous and life-threatening bets; overcrowded five finger fillet, arm wrestling and pool tables; cum-stained mechanical bulls; and countless of rusty, metal birdcages dangling from the ceiling with gagged women and men inside, most of them half-naked and teasing an unreachable climax through explicit dance moves.
Overall, the place smelled awful. Every now and then someone would whistle or howl at the sight of a female leopard walking a human man crawling on a leash, wearing nothing but nut-squeezing, ripped denim shorts and a muzzle basket, or a bulky canine standing as he waited for his knot to unswell inside an old, hairy man's pussy, whose dick rubbed against the edge of a circular table. Nobody appeared to notice a pink-haired woman peeing inside a liquor bottle and feeding it to a goat, though. Let alone how the drink gave his white beard a yellow tone, just as a pleasant song was coming to an end.
"Give it up for Max, Sharps, Mach and guests!" said a human entertainer.
The drunken and high crowd cheered. Leaning his crossed arms against the pristine counter, Shadow positioned the tip of his modified, Chaos energy charged, beaded boot on the wooden flooring, to keep the swivel stool from moving. One couldn't say he wasn't dressed for the occasion: he donned a full chocolate brown leather outfit, consisting of a jacket with its sleeves rolled up; a thin, apache scarf tie, decorated with a cream, holographic arabesque pattern, secured firmly around his neck and pulled to the side; a partly unbuttoned caramel vest to match the latter accessory, exhibiting his chest fur in all its glory above the hanging gold chain of a pocket watch; skin-tight chaps with three small buckles on the lateral of his legs; a cartridge belt with a loaded revolver, its pearly grip peeking out of the holster, polished as much as the buckle in the center; and a pair of fingerless gloves with star-shaped studs, ideal for punching and a convenient replacement for brass knuckles – apparently illegal in there.
At least the prized, one-hit weapon he had on his back wasn't. The Shadow rifle was loaded too, held by a black bandolier across his chest.
In any case, he was simply blending in.
Waiting for the contact to show up, Shadow spat a few crumbs of the waffle cone on the counter and wiped its remnants off his fang with the tip of his tongue. The bartender, a sour-faced zebra, eyed Shadow with contempt while using an old rag to clean his filth, mumbling something redundant. At the same time the music changed into a suave melody, a brunette woman with pigtails blocked Shadow's vision of the band's crocodile keyboardist, who vaguely reminded him of Vector. She sat beside him and smiled – it was hard to tell if she was a wench, or just willing to blow anyone for free. He raised an eye ridge, prompting her to get to the point, and she asked if he wanted company, deftly spreading her legs apart to show what was underneath her miniskirt. The proposition made him recall how his last time with a human woman had gone, and his lip curled in scorn.
"Not interested," was all he said.
He waved the woman away like a fly and ignored her clucking about how rude he is. Glancing at the clock on the shelf, Shadow put a hand in one of his jacket's pockets to take a folded sticky note out, his only lead on the phantom target. In fact, Shadow had almost discovered their identity when he infiltrated Sand Ocean undercover last autumn. He had left before he even knew of their presence there, finding out later through the Guardian Units of Nations that one of their most wanted targets had fled Dr. Eggman's domain – the same one where Shadow was captivated by a meaningful sight over the war zone. He didn't care about who this infamous target was until he read the file, deciding to hunt them down himself without the incompetence of G.U.N. or the assistance of Rouge the Bat and E-123 Omega. If they were reported to be at the ruins of the pyramid that night, they must be directly tied to the Doctor. Thus, Shadow began to handle things his way.
Truth be told, he didn't find anything new. But he knew some guys who could. He unfolded the note.
The Rancher
Mirage Saloon, every SatPM
Code: "Wanna snort?"
MENTION NITE!
The Chaotix Detective Agency proved to be more useful than whoever G.U.N. had hired to play investigator. After breaking into their dingy office in broad daylight, Shadow had disregarded Vector's crazed protests over the broken window and asked for the detective trio's best services. An offer to a near impossible job seemed to be enough for them to lower their guards and, considering how the part-time DJ started boasting about their noticeable reputation, quickly get to work. Charmy Bee had provided the first clue, until all the pieces came together against Espio's insistence on keeping their sources anonymous. The disc jockey from a radio station based in Sunset City had entrusted Team Chaotix with a tip to a possible case. Avid listeners of K-TBR 199.2 had called radio host Nite the Owl to report a scary increase in raids on the principal route to Soleanna, the City of Water. The Transportation Division of the company, responsible for distributing the nation's electricity, did nothing to stop the frequent stealing of clean energy resources, neglecting the panicked citizens' cry for road safety.
No one doubted that Dr. Eggman could be heavily involved in the heists. Therefore, Shadow was satisfied with the lead he was given. An active manager working at Rimlight Corporation was available to be sought out for disclosure of vital information, if one knew their way around Mirage Saloon Zone and the desert areas. Espio prevented Vector from handing out the wolf's real name, so he was only referred to as 'The Rancher.' Shadow was required to say that 'Nite sent his regards' as a means of identification and get acquainted with outdated cowboy slang and etiquette. When the raven-black hedgehog was already heading to the exit, Charmy had shouted that the wolf was married to a relative of the radio station's custodian, Don the Rooster.
"You should've kept your mouth shut," he had overheard Espio scolding the kid, followed by a muffled sound.
And much to Vector's dismay, nobody remembered to ask for payment upfront. Not that Shadow was going to pay up anyway.
"...what about the money?! Unlike you, we depend on it for our livelihood!" the crocodile had sworn, but the dark client was already on the move.
Ripping off the paper and blowing its waste out, Shadow heard a mild disturbance coming from the entrance, pierced ears perking up as someone walked towards him from behind. A menacing shadow was casted on the bartop in front of the short hedgehog, who was about to turn around until the newcomer sat right beside him. His weight caused the stool to ludicrously rotate a few times until his hands found the edge of the counter, thick claws making it halt abruptly. Shadow recognized the figure: The Rancher, a wolf twice his size, thrice his built, on the prime of his fifties. He wore a beige cattleman hat and suspenders, a black and red plaid, long-sleeve shirt with two buttons undone, displaying a couple of unkempt gray strands of hair in contrast with his midnight black fur, and blue jeans, which ended inside oiled leather boots with mudded spurs. From that angle, Shadow wouldn't know if he was armed, but there was a lasso attached to his embossed belt.
Come to think of it, he looked more like a lumberjack than a rancher.
"I'll never get used to 'em," he idly remarked, golden eyes meeting Shadow's amber-ish red stare. He raised his chin upward, acknowledging his presence, and Shadow returned the gesture. Then, the wolf turned to the bartender heading their way. "Hey, stripes! Is Elkan here? Must be loitering around Dusty Desert, I bet."
"That moron's in the back," the zebra pointed in the direction with a thumb. "How's that filly you call a daughter-in-law?"
The inquiry didn't seem to entertain the informer, who aggressively stood up and put his large hand around the offender's neck, baring his sharp teeth and exhaling his breath into the other's squinted eyes. Shadow watched the scene with interest, noticing a ring on his right hand's pinky and a wedding band on the left one.
"Talk about my son's honor again and you won't be brayin' no more, you bloody nester," the so-called rancher threatened in an ice-cold tone.
Shadow was already smirking behind the fringe of his hat when the wolf released the barman and made himself comfortable on the seat, leaving him to gasp and nod rapidly, now aware of his fate. Catching a glimpse of his agitated, strong physique, Shadow began.
"Nite sent his regards. Wanna snort?"
Something shifted within the guy, understanding of the code visible in his features.
"Now give me some kerosene or whatever piss you serving, boy!" he smacked the bar's surface to grab the zebra's attention, lifting his snout at the purple cask on the top shelf, next to what struck him as rat poison.
The Rancher was served wordlessly, downing his mug at once. "That's some strong stuff," he savored the moonshine, pausing to impede Shadow from dropping a few rings on the table by raising his palm subtly. "It's alright, partner. I've got fine living," and he paid the beverage himself with a singular moon medal, worth at least four rounds.
Shadow didn't stop him.
And he didn't have to, since the wolf was a heavy drinker. His lead was dodgy at first, knowing how they were within earshot; there was a porcupine, a mole and a fennec playing five finger fillet at one of the tables on their left. Casually yet warily, he revealed his affiliation with Elkan, a subordinate Rimlight employee and a drinking companion, busy researching the intricacies in the use of Light Cores as an alternative energy source for Arid Sands. The Rancher wisely kept his own role as an operative in management to a bare minimum, focusing on how he first learned of Dust Hill's rebranding from his son, who takes his girlfriend there for some ice cream whenever he's dismissed from work by Sandro, a devoted representative in the corporation. When the talk became a futile chit-chat, Shadow spoke his mind.
"And he brings her to this dump? Pathetic."
On the contrary to the observation made about his daughter-in-law, the wolf took Shadow's comment rather well. He even chuckled in mirth. "He's a big fan of yours. 'The Ultimate Lifeform,' gettin' what you want by hook or by crook..."
Even if the description wasn't wrong in the slightest, Shadow decided it was time to stop playing around. Therefore, he opened his mouth to cut him off, but before he could utter a single word, something – or instead, someone's arrival – silenced him temporarily. Along with them, many other folks in the bustling saloon turned their heads at the rackety squirting noise.
Gasps filled that entire section of the roadhouse when a mysterious bounty hunter came down running on a trail of pressured gushing water, sprayed from a transparent, Eggman sponsored seltzer bottle. A black and blue blur performed air tricks at the end of the line, bouncing from a piano key to a Jackson's hornbill-shaped flipper with prowess. Their speed and vigor made the mechanisms judder, leaving a sonorous ring in their wake which consequently shook the vocal tune up, played by the incarcerated band. Once the stranger landed on the orange flooring, his incognito demeanor vanished completely through the way he danced in a carefree stroll across the hall.
That's not a bounty hunter, Shadow concluded with slightly parted lips.
An albino sheep with overalls – and no bra to contain her soft breasts from a nip slip – wasted no time to dance with the patron, while a male kudu, fancily dressed akin to a renowned art collector, soon followed behind, waddling elegantly against his side. Clearly, the man was unbothered when they both joined in, so much that he made out with the sheep, placing his arm around her shoulders, while his other one shifted to fondle the antelope's flat butt. As the trio moved together, spectators watched the water walker interrupt the lip-lock, only to take the kudu's flamboyant hat off his antlers and put it on his own head, tongue now sliding out to lick the other's mouth. The less than inconspicuous scene raised the bar's fiery spirits even higher, combined with the alternative rock song's bridge.
It's too late to change events
It's time to face the consequence
For delivering the proof
In the policy of truth
"There goes the shepherd," The Rancher noted in amusement, eating an olive from a toothpick.
"Sonic," Shadow damned his rival.
Of course it was him. Besides the stolen cowboy hat, a black wide brim one with its bottom red and an eagle feather tucked in the silver band, Sonic could be easily mistaken for a pistolero: he wore a complete black, faux leather outfit in distinction to his royal blue fur, including a long and open duster coat with a tiny, stylized bumper pin on his left notched lapel; a wild rag around his neck with metallic red embroidery, tied in a Buckaroo knot; knee-high western boots, presenting the same garnishes as his neckerchief, with engraved spurs attached; driving gloves, showing his peach fur on the back of his hands and knuckles; and to finish the gunslinger attire, the laid-back hedgehog sported a belt with a stainless steel buckle, adorned with the image of a two-winged ring. It would be enough if it weren't for the holster with a leg strap around his bare thigh, exposing the black and red handle of a knife and a golden grip frame as he wrapped his leg around the tall kudu's hip.
Shadow frowned, drinking the last drop of ale from his mug. It tasted disgusting, being hot like that. Sickening to the stomach.
The wolf realized Shadow hadn't blinked ever since Sonic the Hedgehog came into view. Leaning in, he broke the tension with a double entendre, given the exhibition ahead.
"It's like uncorkin' a bronco... gotta be done a certain way," his honeyed gaze remained on the blue foreigner.
"He's not an ordinary wild horse..." Shadow replied as if in a trance, but he was on high alert. Hyperconscious.
His statement was received with a knowing snort. "A sweet piece of meat, then," the informer licked his snout obscenely. "I'd love an autograph for my son," he felt the need to clarify when Shadow looked at him in strong disapproval. "Your autograph."
"Where? Inside his ass or yours?" Shadow shamelessly inquired, annoyance evident in his voice.
"Follow me," The Rancher left his seat unceremoniously, bringing along a corn on the cob he had ordered.
Shadow waited till the saloon doors swung to get up. Before he stepped into the early afternoon sun, the dark hero turned back and checked the deplorable room again. A sense of renewed energy washed over clients and servants after Sonic had entered the picture, emanating confidence and simplicity despite being the conceited hedgehog he is. Shadow scoffed at the thought, absentmindedly searching for his rival in the vicinity where an orgy was taking place. However, Sonic was nowhere to be found. Instead of the frisky dancers, he caught sight of two shirtless female bears stroking one another while watching a rattlesnake eat a human man's ass against the jukebox, dangerously close to an inflammable barrel.
Never again
Is what you swore
The time before
Shadow looked away from the silly fuss, and followed.
Ah, the great civilization. Circling the part-open, part-closed bar to reach his goal in the back, Shadow kicked away a few dry bones and rotten limbs of mobians and other animals, who either starved, died from the plague or were beaten to death outside of the saloon; a gift from the outlaws and enemies of the land still roaming about the area, confirming the villagers' lack of balls and skill to actually deal with them – or their own dead. Striding on the same pace as a tumbleweed, Shadow registered a lone armadillo playing the harmonica next to a closed gunsmith shop, a bloodied cactus decorating an abandoned general store and a hidden gateway to a clandestine mine, crammed full of destroyed jail wagons amongst sun-bleached rocks. That particular spot brought him memories of Frontier Canyon Zone, where he had fought Rouge while Metal Sonic handled that pestering echidna.
Lurking in the shadows, the wolf greeted him in front of a red barn. He was resting his hip against an old wooden wagon, carrying milk churns and egg crates.
"Thought you got lost back there," he whirled the corn on a stick.
"Wife won't mind?" Shadow approached with a smirk devoid of any warmth.
"Real funny, Shadow," The Rancher huffed, already pushing the doors wide open like an unequivocal invitation. "That Nite fella... always snooping in my business."
...
Vultures gathered on the circular windowsill, inspecting the barn's interior curiously. Drawn by unmistakable noises of pain and exertion, the birds of prey eventually flew away once the ever-growing sound reverberated off the humid walls, causing a handful of cows kept there to moo in distress. The furred grip of the wolf tightened around the blood-stained, wrought iron tines of a pitchfork, attempting to bend them apart for desperate relief. Instead of mustering excrement, Shadow twisted both hands around the fork's wooden shaft and pushed down, forcing The Rancher's unsightly mug into the haystack while restraining his heavily scratched neck from the slightest movement, caged in-between curved spikes.
Looming over the canine, whose lower back arched and legs spread further out, Shadow panted through bared teeth and thrusted his dick sorely into his hole, dry fucking his salty walls after having stretched them by shoving the buttered corn up his ass, considering there was no lubricant or any other means of protection around. Subdued like that, on all fours and entirely at the Ultimate Lifeform's mercy, the whining informer tried to get some friction against his cock's head in vain, soon realizing he was out of options.
The louder he moaned, the longer he choked on hay as Shadow shut him up, sweat sliding down his temple and falling onto the other's round buttcheeks, quickly absorbed by already damp fur. As his balls smacked the hunk wolf's perineum, Shadow came inside him with a growl, pulling out when he was filled enough and raising his leg to position his sole against his right buttock. His chaps hugged his limbs tightly, though the open spaces on his crotch and tail turned out to be useful in terms of practicality and flexibility. His companion however had to be stripped of his belt, suspenders and trousers.
Spurting aftershocks in his ass-crack, Shadow max-charged his boot with Chaos energy and ruthlessly branded The Rancher's backside, pulling the pitchfork off his nape afterwards. The wolf howled violently and bled further, writhing in both agony and ecstasy since he had reached his climax on impulse, groaning Shadow's name like a witch's curse. Watching him cum, tremble and clutch his neck without any semblance of control, Shadow exhaled and gazed at the steam coming out of the freshly burnt skin, chuckling darkly at his handiwork and wandering away with the pitchfork in hand. Anyone could say he was satisfied with the outcome. Leisurely, Shadow squatted before a faucet, removed the hose connected to it and turned the water on – cloudy like skimmed milk, or semen – to wash off butter and a mix of other fluids from his softening dick, which was beginning to itch.
A lost, clucking chicken ran across the barn as the wolf took a whisky flask from his discarded jeans' pocket, and carefully poured the liquid over the ugly mark, expecting its alcohol to cool down the extreme heat and reduce some of the scarring. Branded like a steer, The Rancher grunted, then sighed in solace to recompose himself, sniffing and drinking the remains of his scotch. It wasn't long until he was able to partly lie on his back over the haystack, sprawled out with his knot resting on his toned abdomen. The plaid shirt also stayed open, allowing his heaving chest to get some fresh air, aging fur gleaming with sweat and a bit of straw.
"Damn, you blew my back, partner..." the informer breathed out, exhausted. "Not to sound like a quitter, but I think you forgot I ain't that young and full of beans no more. You famished or what?"
Shadow was swinging his dick out to dry, wiping off the excess of water by sliding his gloved palm around its length. His piercing eyes regarded the other's state with disdain. "Don't misunderstand it. We're not done yet."
The Rancher waved his torso using his cowboy hat, since the hot weather was considerably worse inside the barn. Shadow didn't care, nor had his own within grasp, fixing his disheveled spines unrushedly. He sauntered towards the hay pile and came to a stop, placing a fist on his hip in wait. Flies buzzed and crossed the shelter, disturbing its quietude.
"You save your breath for breathing, I like that," the wolf massaged his neck, wet with cuts over a bite mark. "Got me thirsting."
Shadow pointed with his chin at one of the cows' tits. "Straight from the source. Now tell me what you know."
Heedful of Shadow's hand moving to reach his rifle, the informer wore his hat, retrieved a cigar, a cutter and a vintage torch lighter from his boot, and resumed business. "Alright. If you were given the code, you should be reliable."
Upon the readiness, Shadow bent down and listened, holding the manure pitchfork for balance. He looked like a little devil staring down on a damned soul.
"About the heists... it's complicated. Best if I give you the whole picture," he shrugged and fast cut the cap of his cigar, evenly warming its foot up over the flame while surrounded by hay. He took a few shallow puffs and blew out the thick smoke calmly. "They wanted the technology I was talking about earlier. Very precious, those orbs. Can be used as a robotic power source. There's a cover-up goin' on, pretty boy. Everyone's involved. Rimlight, some politicians. That milksop leading the Transportation Division told me... think the name's Alan. He's a pea-brain, but honest."
"So the raids were a diversion," Shadow deduced. "Who was after the Light Cores?"
The Rancher laughed gruffly, resorting to a wheeze when his larynx started to ache.
"Who isn't?" he cleared his throat, spat on the ground and drew in the smoke again, lending the cigar out. Shadow accepted the deed, puffing casually while holding the cigar between his lips, its end glowing nicely. "The cargo was double paid by the client long before stolen, and it's being transported by train as we speak. A mustached one, heading to god-knows-where. They say the last shipment was raided by the militia, but I'm sure it was those desert hermits who worship the noble leader. Buncha cultists if you ask me..." he hissed and scratched his balls, since Shadow let the ashes fall directly on them. "I've got no respect for the likes of him myself. If the guy's a sheikh, then that fat terrorist from Eggman Enterprises must be a goddamn bishop."
A train...
Exhaling the white smoke held in his mouth, Shadow rotated the cigar to keep it dwindling before handing it back to the wolf. "The Doctor's commotions are nothing new. They have a deal?"
"One hand washes the other," the informer fixed his cattleman hat, seeing Shadow go towards a log fence where the cows were being kept. "Harming the environment, stealing energy from the desert towns, manipulating the uneducated... they ain't so different. Why get a horde of trigger men when you can buy some rugged bots and leave no trace?" he leaned back on the pile, burning cigar hanging out of his maw as his palms cushioned the back of his head. "No complaints. No paycheck. Seems fine in my book. As long as you don't get your hands dirty, providing materials for an oil refinery owned by a lunatic could be an easy ride."
"I've heard enough. Anything else on this noble leader?" Shadow entered the byre's enclosure and left the pitchfork there, picking out a stained egg to scrutinize it closely.
"Oh, he's a real charmer. Earned the respect of the rich in Empire City, that son of a bitch. Money speaks a universal language I reckon," he chuckled dryly, giving his cigar a few last puffs before the fire extinguished at last. "The competition ain't too fierce, either. You see, it's not every feller like us who gets to be protected by humans without offering somethin' real valuable in return..." the wolf cryptically assumed, relighting the cigar. "It's believed he's a predator. 'The King of the Desert'... oughta be some foaming camel to hide so much."
"Where can I find him?" Shadow flung the egg against the far wall, revealing a baby chicken inside.
"Searching for him would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Might be a little hard to track him down, even for an unruly bastard like yourself," he sneered, eyeing the freed chick. "The Desert Raiders want him too. You saw the gang, those Shamar fighters tryin' to eavesdrop on us, playing a knife game slower than my mama. Deputies of Miss Possum, the new sheriff 'round these parts. I'll ask 'em about the ferry job later. Sonar knows my birdie," he recovered his lasso.
"He is my prey," the hedgehog turned around and scowled.
"Easy, cowboy. I won't be conspicuous," the informer winked, masking the discomfort he felt on his asscheek by changing positions. "I admire your courage... going after a procurer. Ain't wise, but still commendable. You saw the corpses, didn't cha? Those who go against him die. They tried after a lassie or two snitched. The beauties at Mirage... they don't have a choice. It's either sittin' on some blatherskite's rotten dick or lying dead on a ditch somewhere. To him they're just some lamb, waiting to be slaughtered. And that tycoon is making bank with interspecies sex. Got a cunny for everyone! Miss Possum, the mayor... they got their hands tied," he frankly declared, tying the rope into a faultless loop. "And I, my friend, got my hands tied."
There was a deafening silence for a minute. In the meantime, Shadow was crouched, squeezing and sucking a cow's udder to get a jet of raw milk into his mouth. Rather than quenching a thirst, he treated it as an improvised mouthwash, gargling for a bit before spitting the liquid on the dirty ground. He glared at another cow that was about to lick the golden fringe of his modish hat, hung loosely on a low post. Putting it back on his head, Shadow left the cramped space and advanced to the center of the hayloft. The Rancher watched his every step, smirking at the exclusive view.
"Thank you for the information," Shadow said behind the rhinestone curtain, visibly unfazed.
"You still owe me an autograph, Black Blur..." he trailed off, almost dreamily. "Are ya goin' to acknowledge the corn at least?"
Shadow raised an eye ridge, gazing down at the glistening corn near the haystack, then back to the wolf's smug face. It took him a moment to understand that hollow expression meant admitting to a mistake or a small impropriety. Perceiving his increased confusion, The Rancher gestured vaguely in the direction of a metal plate, screwed on the partition to his right. Shadow's eyes narrowed into slits; it bore an engraved message that could be read as 'Property of Mayor Chestnut.'
"Hmph. No more than you will, wolfy," the dark hedgehog scoffed, moving to the sliding barn doors.
Said wolfy lassoed his waist firmly before he could walk any further.
"You're really tryin' to get yourself eaten, ain't ya?" he taunted, but received no response. "Who are you working for this time? The President?"
That question however required an elucidation.
"I'm bound to no one," and Shadow teleported away from the nylon ring.
...
Liquor in the front, poker in the back.
Hysterical laughter erupted from one of the busiest gambling tables in the saloon.
"I said we were playing fast, guys," Sonic cheekily reminded, gathering a pile of golden chips, two holsters and even more whines of despair.
Eight seminude gamblers complained in unison. The blue hedgehog smiled around his lit-up black cigarette, victorious at strip poker for the second time in a row. Accustomed with a tight-aggressive approach to Texas Hold'em, Sonic left no room for competition when they were delt with the river card, facing up the players and granting the planet's hero a conclusive royal flush of clubs. His promised treasury grew rapidly – whoever lost a hand had to strip a piece of clothing off themselves and toss it in the pot. Still, that wasn't enough; the high value chips acquired in blind bets and re-raises were also detained, ranging from black to gold. Miss Possum oversaw the tournament standing at Sonic's side, star badge glimmering against the dim light. Whether the mayor liked it or not, Gambler's Gulch ended up becoming a striking reality. It is as they say: if you can't win them, join them.
Owning four stacks of golden round discs, the seasoned gambler flipped a single black one in the air and took a drag off his cigarette, leaning back on the chair to exhale its smoke upwards. The white cloud swallowed the grim chip, making it vanish before the humans' wide eyes like an invisible threat, prone to ambush them at any given time.
Not to Sonic, who caught the falling object and placed it in front of its golden twins. An army versus one.
"One last game? 'Cause I'm burnin' up today," he proposed, and the humans gambled for their bodies.
An ace in the hole. Pocket aces. He was off to a good start already. Blowing smoke through his nostrils, Sonic lowered his hole cards face down and rested his elbow on the wooden table. The bearded dealer pitched cards to each player as the hedgehog's gaze fixated on the blond man in front of him; Aristo, a clever mathematician whose poker strategies were claimed to be infallible. It was obviously a lie, since Sonic had beaten him in the match before, and a few years ago. Apparently, the game's level of complexity had awakened the academic's interest.
Chosen to place the small blind while Aristo worked on getting the big one out, Sonic smirked at the memory of being the first to defeat him on an intellectual challenge in Soleanna Castle Town. He doubted Aristo remembered him, considering he felt just as downhearted when he had lost to him in the city. Determined to bet his own clothing after a bust, the human was in the process of taking his suspenders, belt and pants off, displaying the bulge concealed in his briefs without a care. Sonic even gave his lower body a subtle glance under the table to make sure he wasn't imagining things – a long-haired woman had the same idea. He wasn't average.
After the wagering started, the preflop round made Sonic's focus disperse. He heard a man call, another raise, but his gaze had moved elsewhere, noticing a few wanted posters glued on the side entrance that led to the ramp. There was a reward on the heads of Fang's Gang; the infamous Hooligans, comprising of Nack the Weasel, also known as Fang the Sniper – or Hunter –, wanted for theft and extortion, Bean the Dynamite and Bark the Polar Bear, considered armed and dangerous. Sonic couldn't help but deadpan at the mercenaries' worth, deciding to examine the trio of community cards instead and raise his bet on the flop, regal so far. Two kings and their ace. Someone folded, though he didn't see who, because a familiar shape had been spotted through the corner of his eye, walking up the ramp to the pool tables.
The hero's attention was captured instantly once he discerned upturned quills.
Shadow...?
Sonic frowned in suspicion, unable to fathom what his notorious rival was doing there. Excitement was far from the word he'd use to describe how he felt at the sight. There was something in Shadow's stance the blue hedgehog recognized; he was on the prowl, meaning he wasn't there to unwind or buy Rodeo Show tickets. Raising an eye ridge, Sonic brought his cigarette back to his lips and inhaled deeply as his unswerving emerald gaze followed Shadow's heavy steps, approaching the least crowded table after chalking the tip of his cue. Was he holding a predator or a regular billiard stick? And what the heck was he even wearing? He couldn't tell either. Check, fold, then Sonic raised his bet yet again, only pausing his lookout role to confirm it was indeed a jack of spades in the turn. Puffing the smoke out, the hero contemplated Shadow as mist covered his whole face, except for one eye.
Unaware of being watched, the striped hedgehog played to win against a selected few of self-proclaimed champions at the saloon, taking his time to get around the table during his evaluation of a clean shot. Whilst the informer gathered a likely route of the Doctor's train from the Desert Raiders, Shadow faced the galaxy; the pool table was slightly high and jet-black, its rails glossy with spots akin to white glitter dispersed amidst the top, resembling stars. Upon finding a sufficient angle to set up a shot, the Ultimate Lifeform leaned forward above the navy-blue cloth and envisioned a path ahead, billiard cue positioned on an open bridge over the play field.
Men observed their audacious challenger place his knee on the short rail and move the regular stick backward and onward after adjusting his posture, tail up and head kept down. Shadow focused on the cue ball in the middle of his hat's fringe, clear like a moon to fifteen planets, and took aim at number eight within a cluster. Smirking in complacency, the dark hero had the fake moon collide with his mark in a tangential hit, scattering all the other balls in the process. Engrossed looks accompanied the black sphere's trip to its doom, rolling from eight to infinity and repeat until disappearing into the corner pocket, sticking out like a black hole. Simply a peerless strike.
Devourer of worlds.
"Perfect," Shadow asserted with a grin, which also disappeared much like the object ball after his eyes met someone else's from across the roadhouse.
Sonic's.
Mirroring his status, the blue hedgehog sat by the opposite corner of the round table, leaning on it to reach for the pot and drop in the spiky bra a redhead woman had just taken off. He glanced at said human on Sonic's right, cursing the players whistling at her exposed large bosom after throwing her bad hand away. Curiously, Sonic didn't take a glimpse at the loser's rosy nipples on the oak surface, rather taking Shadow on a stare down. Frowning, the striped hedgehog gripped the shaft of his cue stick firmly over the fact that Sonic was the only one fully clothed. A gambler at heart he couldn't deny, having gotten a first-hand taste of his fortune in Casinopolis. If he weren't busy right now, he'd show him who is the superior gambler, leaving Sonic with nothing but his own cock to bet. Not even a ring would live to tell the tale.
The bearded dealer finally revealed the river card: an ace of diamonds. The ace in the hole Sonic wasn't expecting. It looked like Shadow's little ass served as a lucky charm after all.
"All in," Sonic pushed a pile of golden chips forward, along with the black disc and the clothing articles he had won in previous matches, smiling maliciously at his human adversary and alien rival.
They held one another's gaze intensely, as if testing the other's skills all the way across the bar.
Given the inflexible circumstances, the rivals broke eye contact at the same time. Sonic saw his opponents fold one by one in clockwise order, realizing further how the final betting round was heading towards a boring victory for himself, awarded the pot without much dispute. Simultaneously, he watched Shadow from afar, seated on the long rail with his stick inclined, dealing with problem balls to run the board. There was only one person left to drop out, and Sonic felt relieved when the scientist called instead, taking his cutter hat off and unbuttoning his polo shirt to toss it in front of the hedgehog, who licked his lips and smirked. Aristo flexed his defined, shaved chest in resolution. Could that be an attempt to chop the pot, or to prove who's the shrewdest?
Sonic didn't play for profit but fun. Thus, he couldn't wait to find out.
"Well? It's not that hard to guess who has the best five-card hand, is it?" Aristo folded his arms.
"Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe you're the one thinking too hard on it," the hero leaned back and ogled the last man standing.
And now he was up Aristo on a race for the pot.
Entering the game's decisive phase, Sonic took a long drag of his black cigarette, kept all the smoke in, then released a series of clove-scented halos in the air, closing his eyes to softly inhale the diffused smell. At the dealer's announcement of their showdown, the blue gambler shot his eyes open and tipped his hat to the blond challenger, putting his cigarette out by pressing its glowing edge against the flat of his tongue. Aristo's pupils dilated; the low hissing sound of dying fire was swiftly muted by Sonic shoving the entire cigarette into his mouth, munching its sweet-flavored paper nonchalantly. After being requested to show his hole cards, since he had raised the bet first, the hedgehog swallowed with a cocky smile and did as he was told, wasting no time to pick up and turn both cards in-between two fingers to the man at once.
"I've got bullets right here," Sonic held the two missing aces to complete the suits, winning with an immaculate four of a kind.
"Darn, Sonic! I lost," Aristo mucked his own losing hand in frustration. Defeated for the thir– second time.
"Piece of cake!" he celebrated, now welcome to drag the pot in.
Maybe luck was on his side, or maybe he was just smart enough to know when to stop, unlike a certain human. Unexpectedly, Sonic and Shadow found each other's face amidst the distant ruckus in their respective tables. The dark hedgehog had won his own game easily too, blocking anyone from interfering in his turn by pocketing ball after ball. Once a lone number twelve rolled into its new home, Shadow received a standing ovation of swears from the bikers who even dared to compare themselves to him over dexterity.
The unequaled result didn't surprise the Ultimate Lifeform, who looked for Sonic in the crowd to make sure the other had watched and learned how it's done. Judging by the latter's self-satisfied expression, it seemed like his rival had also won a battle royale. Shadow snarled when Sonic wiggled his eye ridges at him in derision. A uniformed possum with fishnet stockings had approached the gambler, throwing her arms around his neck to kiss him on the cheek. She reeked of friendliness, based on the faint blush that spread across the blue hedgehog's muzzle.
"Magnificent, Sonic!" Miss Possum congratulated her old friend while Shadow was booed.
The winner stood up and reached out to Aristo for a handshake.
"Let's battle again sometime," Sonic winked promisingly.
The offer felt almost nostalgic if the roles weren't reversed.
A limping, muscular wolf taking painkillers caught Sonic's attention all of a sudden, head turning to the general direction where Shadow was ambling in. The tall canine leaned down to speak something apparently important into the short hedgehog's pierced ear. Seeing how his rival listened deliberately to the point of giving him the time of day, it wasn't difficult to presume they were far from strangers to one another.
"Cash this in for me," Sonic requested the sheriff and abandoned his winnings, taking only the black chip with him.
"...had to buy Spike a drink. Bastard didn't have a tail feather lef– fuck!" The Rancher jumped back as Shadow dodged a thrown knife that nearly cut right through them.
The weapon pricked a dart board ahead, its hilt black and red.
"You missed," Shadow mocked over his shoulder, watching Sonic approach a thronged pool table behind him with indifference. This close, he was able to discern a silver snake earring with ruby eyes wrapped around the other's right earlobe.
"Howdy, Shadow!" Sonic flicked the brim of his hat, making the ruffian-looking wolf squint at the visible insult. "Did I?" he reached for a predator cue stick on the wall and chalked its tip.
"Tch," Shadow didn't address how his frivolous knife hit the bullseye.
Standing back-to-back, the two hedgehogs resumed their individual activities on demand. Once it was his turn at the ladies' table, Sonic turned sideways and grabbed the decorated butt of his billiard cue, positioning it across his lower back, the outline of two pointy wings shining in red. With the shaft on a closed bridge, Sonic had the stick rub back and forth against his duster a few times until he took the shot, regarding Shadow's exquisite rifle and the back view of his vaquero outfit discreetly.
"A train coming from the east will pass through this town 'round sunset," the informer murmured close to the vigilant hedgehog, resting his weight on one leg. "Not sure if it's yours. That orange porcupine didn't let Sonar talk, thought I was fishy... but Trevor Burrow ran his mouth lickety-split," he snickered.
"It is," Shadow lowered his chest fur on the table's cushion, oblivious to a blue ear veering at the sound of his deep voice. "They wouldn't bother playing dumb otherwise..."
"Anyway, keep your eyes open for the big, blind mole. If he hears the engine, you bet he'll start diggin'. Burn the breeze and you may catch your rattler," The Rancher's golden orbs lingered on Sonic's posture, back facing his grim counterpart's anew. He was sliding the cue forward to refine his aim.
"He won't be able to stop me," Shadow smirked and put his inner thigh over the rail, anticipating what turned out to be a promising lead.
Just as he bent over to deliver the ultimate shot, Sonic's wooden stick slipped backwards.
And hit Shadow square in the hole.
Humans burst into laughter when the dark hero yelped in shock at the intrusion, losing his balance and consequently failing to hit the cue ball. One of his amber-ish red orbs twitched after he found the culprit, looking over his shoulder with half-lidded eyes and a grin of feigned innocence. Changing his hold around the stick, Shadow growled and furiously swung the object in a horizontal trail much like a blade to slice Sonic in half. Multiple patrons shrieked and crouched in reflex, listening to the whoosh made by the cue as it cut through air until its shaft virtually smashed against a woman, who threw herself out of the way only to go down like a sack of potatoes. His target however had leapt and landed graciously with his medium-heeled boots on top of the narrow ferrule.
"Careful. This thing might hurt somebody," Sonic wagged his finger at such grumpy face.
Shadow tried to bite his digit off, but the infuriating hedgehog recoiled it to higher ground.
"Be glad you are tight, babyface," an old biker with a horseshoe mustache jested, inducing the other morons to chuckle softly.
The babyface in question snapped his head towards the man, lifting the billiard stick and its additional weight to plummet it back on the galactic table. Sonic jumped out of Shadow's view in time, granting him a clear line of sight to send the cue ball flying direct to the scoundrel's nuts. Hoarse screaming prompted the remaining pool players to step back, considering how the member of the brotherhood fell to the floor and rolled with both palms on his crotch. Unaffected by the dire mood, the azure hedgehog circled the area and recovered his knife from the dart board, securing it in his leg strap.
"Strike," Shadow looked down menacingly, gloved hands clenched into fists.
"Nasty," Sonic observed the turmoil beside his rival's acquaintance, holding onto his belt. "Can't make an omelet without breaking eggs, huh?"
"Shit, he's a punchy one..." The Rancher guffawed, addressing Shadow instead of the spirited blue rascal he had just tipped his hat to. "So long, cowpokes. And good hunting," then he gifted him a cigar, sealed their deal with a handshake and departed, limping unapologetically.
Sonic watched the exchange out of curiosity, retrieving an open pack of black cigarettes and a matchbox from his duster to light one up. From that shady exit alone, he got the confirmation that Shadow had an ongoing objective in the roadhouse. Striking a match against the bottom of his boot, the hero turned to question his rival, only to realize he was already gone. People talked louder, ruining Sonic's track of a specific clang that remotely sounded like metal soles. On his way to the refreshment zone, the gambler smoked and saluted the band behind grids – one he had sung for during his adolescence. Aviators looked great on Sharps, whom he hadn't seen ever since the debut of Forget Me Knots.
There, on a sophisticated lounge next to a ripped painting of Heavy King, away from most bikers, prostitutes and gigolos, Shadow sorted vials on a purple shelf beside his table, containing soft serves, decanters glowing a hot pink and powder cans, neatly racked. Sonic sneezed, able to sense impending danger ahead. Walking over, he could make out a beer bottle thawing in front of the striped troublemaker.
"Heheh," the inconvenient hedgehog stole a gulp of his rival's brew and sat on the opposite swivel stool.
"Get out of my table. I'm busy," Shadow scolded, rummaging through the mini bottles.
"Sheesh. Constipated as usual," Sonic put his feet on the table, sun-shaped spurs scratching its surface unpleasantly. "So, looking for an old horse to ride?"
"Don't make me laugh. No steed is faster than the Ultimate Lifeform," the raven-black hedgehog poured a brown-ish orange liquid into his beverage, discarding an empty vial with a black tape around it. "That includes you."
Sonic sighed, thinking aloud on the other's statement. "That's because you've never been with a mare..." he flicked his cigarette on a glass ashtray, realizing Shadow had poisoned his own drink if the label with a cross skull is anything to go by. "What's up with big bad wolf walking funny? I'm not new to you mingling with the wrong guys. Things tend to smell like an egg later."
Shadow merely gazed at his rival's frown, drinking his beer with a high dose of scorpion venom undisturbed. The mocking silence made Sonic's blood boil – that and his ridiculous fringed hat.
"Fine. I'll indulge you," he pulled slightly away and replied after a moment, openly amused. "He rode a corn on the cob that I forced up his ass. It was useful to stretch his hole, so I could properly mount him," his arms were crossed over his vest. "The limping started only after he was branded."
Sonic whistled, unimpressed. "Sounds interesting, Shadow," then he selected a bottle of root beer, opening its metal cap with a thumb. "Got his number?" his head fell backward as he drank the booze.
"I don't get numbers," Shadow bit on a melting soft serve, licking the cream off his lips.
"With all that whispering around, I could almost believe you were hunting someone," the clever hedgehog took a long drag of his cigarette, blowing smoke through his nostrils and mouth. "I thought you had Rouge to look into people for you. Trouble in paradise?" he raised an eye ridge and flicked the ashes, distracted by the amazing view of a ginger stripper's spread cunt and pierced clit when she bounced inside a hanging cage.
Shadow zeroed in on the ashtray. "Jealous I have fans and you don't?"
"No way!" the crude jab at Sonic's competitive nature broke his immersion. "Trust me, I've had fans in this field way before you came along," he sipped his beverage confidently. "Besides, I'm sure he'd have more fun with me, even with you watching us like one of 'em frogs," he gestured with his chin to a group of voyeur frogs, croaking at the caged humans and the animal folk cuckolding in the back.
"Good grief, you're so self-absorbed. The world doesn't revolve around you, hedgehog."
His stuck-up companion simply dug into his ear with a smirk, pretending not to listen since he already didn't care.
"We can get a third party to settle this."
"Hah! I'm not desperate... he already acknowledged I'm the superior one," Shadow noted smugly.
Sonic was about to contest just as a minor scuffle broke out and interrupted his comeback. A surly puma working as a bouncer – evidently useless at a no man's land establishment like that – managed to contain those involved, blurting out a 'walk it off' before some mobian twins' drunken quarrel turned into a brawl near the lounge. Whilst the instigators scattered, albeit hesitant, Shadow calmly dropped an entire vial of a yellow-ish white substance into Sonic's beer bottle. The hero was tapping his cigarette onto the ashtray when he noticed it altogether, gaping in disbelief.
He looked at Shadow's wicked grin, then at his spiked drink, then back at those sharp fangs again.
"Really?" Sonic gave him a blank stare, unamused. "Well, if you insist... I'd like to consider myself a connoisseur," he downed the booze in one go, extending his pinky finger.
The complete lack of protests surprised the Ultimate Lifeform.
"You don't seem repulsed for a hedgehog who revels in human cuisine," Shadow pointed out, taking a handful of ash to put into his mouth.
"Don't be stupid, I've drunk far worse things," Sonic stubbed the cigarette out sternly and placed his intertwined hands behind his head, quickly deciding not to lean back after he nearly slid off the seat. "Snake venom is nothin' in comparison to what Eggman injected into me once. Tasteless as always!"
"Is that so?" Shadow chewed tobacco, among other filth forgotten in the ashtray. "I can't imagine the Doctor resorting to such archaic method in order to exterminate you."
"Heh, he ain't half bad! I even get surprised sometimes," Sonic reminisced about his werehog transformation while taking his feet off the wooden surface, crossing his legs under the table. "What he said could lay a giant to rest simply gave me a boner. I told him it didn't work," he picked his knife out of its sheath and began flourishing it. "He only believed me after my dong throbbed and hit him in the nose," until he chuckled lightheartedly. "That nostril sure was hairy and mucky..."
"An aphrodisiacal overdose," Shadow spat on the transparent tray, prying further on Sonic's physical endurance and immunotoxicity. "How did you defeat him intoxicated?"
"It was no big deal," Sonic flung the knife upward, its honed blade making circles in the air until the handle landed in his grasp again. Closing that specific topic in the conversation, the hero splayed his left hand out on the table and started piercing the spaces between his fingers, stabbing faster after each turn in clockwise order. "This won't turn me into a snake, but let's hope I don't eat my own tail, huh?" he regarded the other with an enigmatic grin, briefly glancing at the empty bottle.
Shadow knew there was more to the story, being left to imagine a few outcomes.
"Why are you in this shithole?" he held his rival's gaze fiercely, pushing the butt of the knife down as it moved in a blur over Sonic's ring finger.
Sonic still had his guard up, retreating the digit before it was fatally chopped.
"I'm just here to have a hog-killin' time," the cryptic hedgehog leaned in, resting his forearms on the polished surface.
The knife remained where it was, unclaimed.
Shadow frowned, not easily intimidated. "Who are you killing? It's unusual to see you agreeing to use firearms. Melee weapons however..." he reflected on how Sonic had thrown the knife with astonishing precision.
The former tsked, exasperated over yet another literal interpretation.
"Look who's talking, armed to the teeth... it's a toy gun!" Sonic drew a pure gold pistol, twirling it around his trigger finger before doing other spin tricks for show. "It's part of my wild style. I can't stand wearing the same thing for years at a time," with the alleged toy's muzzle, he raised the red brim of his stolen hat and winked.
In the blink of an eye, Shadow ripped the flashy weapon out of Sonic's hand and aimed its barrel at the blue gap between his eyes, firing it three times consecutively. As per expected, the disarmed hedgehog evaded every single bullet with ease, vaguely hearing a stylish reptile in the far back squeak when they hit the whisky bottle he was gulping from, along with his open crown hat, which flew off his bald head after being customized with two holes. The lounge got deadly quiet, though the gunshots were mistaken for the band's cheery encore, confusing the same bouncer from earlier.
"Hmph. A loaded toy gun," Shadow smirked and spun the grip of Sonic's semi-automatic pistol flippantly.
"What the heck!" Sonic reclaimed and inspected the handgun while the other swiveled around in his seat, holstering it once he was done. "It's just like the one I had in Maginaryworld," he sounded more dumbfounded about the real weapon than the fact that Shadow had shot at him thrice.
Fed up, Shadow side-eyed his rival and checked his pocket watch, just waiting for the sunset to ride off on pursuit already.
"...enjoy the show," the entertainer's voice echoed in his eardrums, making his eyes dart forward.
Velvet plum curtains opened to present a new world, illuminated by tricolor spotlights that welcomed a long-awaited attraction. Libertine patrons shouted their most lascivious desires once met with ruffles of lush frills and sexy knickers, deserving of acclaimed whistles and waving hats. Alternating between humans and mobians like fire and ice, the can-can dancers kicked up skirts frenetically on stage, displaying their toned legs, embellished with black pantyhoses tied to garter belts. Bombarded by a song that would put even an ancient babylonian cabaret to shame, the saloon began to vibrate from so many customers tap-dancing to the rhythm. In the wilderness, Shadow spotted a cross-legged Sonic from the corner of his eye, tapping on the table and moving his spurred boot along to the desert blues, somewhat fussy.
As if taking the hero's lack of enthusiasm into consideration, the retro performance and its musical tone shifted drastically. Feathered tilted hats were hurled to the audience before the stage blacked out, giving space to a horde of muscular dandies and hot showgirls, all gussied up in neon-lit pinch front hats and garments that ranged from silk neckerchiefs, fringed jackets, leather chaps and waistcoats to bras and g-strings made of real animal print. Providing eye candy for the thirsty cowboys and widows in the lounge, the go-go dancers swayed from side to side while twirling lassos above their heads expertly.
The crowd went wilder than ever, throwing rings, banknotes and vodka bottles at the renowned escorts; some of the latter cracked on the floor, others were luckily seized and drank from the finish, icy liquid dripping down their catcher's sculpted abdomen, as they kneeled and bucked their hips forward in front of starry-eyed onlookers. Lights would go out every now and then so the dancers' silhouettes glowed brighter, hands stroking low body parts unseen in the dark, which provoked further acts of savagery from the rowdy beasts, much akin to a rodeo. Shadow could even identify the noble leader's women, standing out for their strict training and almost zombie-like discipline.
One of them, though, exhibited incredible resilience, making Shadow's mind wander back to a certain hedgehog, who always found a way to enjoy himself even in the direst of situations. Against his will, the dark hero mentally erased a red coyote shaking her rump – to an old lizard's satisfaction – and replaced her with Sonic, wearing the barman's monochrome skin as his stage outfit. The zebra print matched the black sunglasses on top of his head, as well as the lightning bolt necklace dangling back and forth as he danced, indicative of his electrifying speed and rockstar status.
Well, gun fighter, you think twice
Are you fast, you heed my advice
Glaring at the long neck of his beer bottle, Shadow glowered bitterly at the thought of his rival smirking and spreading his legs wide to publicly sit on a phallic object, like the one he was currently holding. Sonic put on a show; the ring of his hole stretched enough to accommodate the round finish in, just like it would to the tip of Shadow's own cock. Whimpering in elation, the blue prey in his fantasy tensed and bit the necklace's serrated pendant, inner walls closing around the bottle's neck tighter and tighter, until the pressure was so strong the glass shattered inside him like a frangible bullet.
A food plate landed on the table with a thud, snapping Shadow out of his daydream.
"What is this?" the striped hedgehog wetted his dry lips, taking one last gulp of his venomous beer before examining the meal Sonic had just dug in.
It was astounding how fast his drinks would get warm in that bar. Nonetheless, the delicious scent told him the hero's dish could be lamb's fry.
"Lamb's heart with boiled potatoes and peas," Sonic answered without looking up.
Shadow's mouth watered. Tragically, he was still hungry. He should've eaten one of those cows at the barn raw when he had the chance. Instead, Sonic suffered the consequences, seeing how his dark counterpart grabbed for his wrist and moved the next bite straight into his mouth, chomping on the seasoned meat with gusto.
"Edible," he swallowed, ignoring the other's snarl in objection.
"Say, have you ever been to Empire City? 'Cause you could get a big G steak there. A guy named Robert sold it to me once as a giant slab of stamina. Gave me some pep before venturing into the metropolis. Surely it would take a starved fucker like you off my lamb," Sonic commented matter-of-factly, attempting to hide his plate from Shadow's uncut claws.
He wasn't able to, since his persistent rival tore another generous slice with those same claws, licking his fingers triumphantly after ingestion.
"So you eat more than low-priced chili dogs..." Shadow summarized. "Perhaps it's why you're in good shape after all."
"It feels like I heard that before," Sonic gave him a lopsided smile, despite the whole thievery. "When I was in Spagonia after the planet broke apart, I tried pasta alla paccino at Josef's. It's got herb sauce and groundnuts. An old friend of mine loved the herbs in particular, though I think the nuts could be more to your liking," he teased.
"That's nonsense," Shadow ate the final piece of his heart, leaving Sonic to fill himself up with potatoes.
"Speaking of nuts... did you read my note?" the blue hedgehog pushed the plate aside, using a toothpick to clean his teeth.
Shadow knew his rival was going to touch on that subject sooner than later.
"Unfortunately," he wiped his fingers on the napkin Sonic had brought with his cutlery and spat a pea out into the ashtray. "Poorly written, although you had an amusing choice of words," he spoke with no sign of levity whatsoever.
"What can I say? I was in a hurry," the raunchy hedgehog touched Shadow's knee under the table, his voice lowering a fraction. "I meant that last part," his tone changed from lively to cool, palm sliding up, then slowly going down in a subtle caress on his thigh. "A man gotta display some madness from time to time... makes him feel alive, ya know?"
The heavy aroma of clove, beer and lamb was sufficient to increase Shadow's focus on his troublesome rival and those words, chosen with fastidious care. Of all the things Sonic had said and done, the dark hedgehog concluded that last remark was the most absurd yet truthful out of everything else. It alluded to the perks of unlimited freedom, not so different from what Mirage offered to its visitors for a price. Moreover, Sonic didn't just refer to that distinct line on his note; he also meant the here and now. Even inebriated by the other's breath, smelling mostly of natural tobacco, Shadow could plainly sense his strokes through his chaps – firm yet controlled, as if he would pull his hand back at any moment over the smallest hint of resistance. Regardless of his own body's reaction, Shadow could tell that was a silent dare. A threat disguised as seduction. Thus, he didn't take the bait.
After all, he should be careful not to eat his own tail, too.
"Bold words for someone within shooting range," Shadow warned ominously.
"You know I can take a load just fine," Sonic made a finger gun with his right hand, except he tilted it down until his digits posed as a double-barreled shotgun, aimed at where Shadow's forehead would be. His gloved palm trailed to an uncovered inner thigh, faux leather texture leaving goosebumps in its wake. "But the thing is... is it loaded?" his smirk became a grin, toothpick sticking out of his fang, and he pretended to shoot, raising his finger shotgun upward to convey an erection, as fingertips found the other's groin and unashamedly pressed hard against his crotch.
Shadow closed his eyes for a second, exhaling air through parted lips. In the meanwhile, Sonic's hand returned to his thigh after tearing apart the elastic design that connected one side of his chaps to its adjustable belt. With his right leg now bare, Shadow felt the hero's driving glove thoroughly, snaked around his moist fur in a loose grip.
There was no mistaking about it.
He was calling for a fight.
Gesturing for his rival to come closer, Shadow curved his forefinger towards himself a few times and leaned forward to meet Sonic in the middle. Once their heads were near enough, the soft-spoken hedgehog whispered his response into the other's ear so raw and clear that even the serpent tangled up in his lobe could shrink back.
"It's locked."
Sonic cried out when the back of his hand was smashed against the table's underside. His knuckles tingled like crazy, prickled by thick splinters from the impact. Baring his teeth, the hero tried to free his arm without much success, given how Shadow kept his hand squeezed in-between his thigh and the sturdy board, ankle balanced on the tip of his redesigned boot. Not finished, the unmerciful hedgehog clutched the side of Sonic's head and pulled him in harshly, driving the other to clasp his forearm, bend over and perch awkwardly on the footrest of the stool. They were stuck together, up-close and personal; nose to nose, hat to hat, with just the golden fringe separating their faces and hiding the glint in its owner's irises, upon ending Sonic's endeavor to dominate the scene.
"Formality doesn't sit well with you, hedgehog. If there's something you want to say, make it quick. I don't have time to play games."
"You don't sit well with me, dickhead," he smiled knowingly, conviction never faltering. "Did you choke on the chili dogs I left or something?"
When Shadow's hold shifted to grip his spines instead, Sonic braced himself for the worst. His face got banged on the soiled ashtray with abnormal strength, causing the glass to shatter and the toothpick to break and slit the middle of his tongue, pained moan barely audible. The bleeding cuts on his eye ridge, mouth and cheek were nothing in comparison to what came next. Retrieving the knife from where it waited upright, Shadow thrusted the handle down over Sonic's hand viciously, making the sharp blade penetrate through the table. It pierced a considerable layer of timber, until the azure hedgehog was stabbed in a gap where peach fur wasn't protected, releasing a grating yell. Relishing in the other's misery, Shadow rose from his seat, fresh blood leaking down his leg, and loomed over Sonic's squirming form, trying to take his fingers away from the weapon to no avail.
"Jalapeños tasted better on the ARK," he informed coldly, forcing the knife down at once to impale Sonic's hand and pin him there, anticipating a gruesome scar after his loud cursing. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go," then he smirked and made a beeline to the washroom, improvising a way to fasten the leg of his chaps back into its belt.
He wouldn't give him a fight. Not yet.
Author's Note 2: Does Shadow's target sound familiar? If you've read "One Thousand and One Nights," you already know how this plot ends. It is known that the Lion of Judah opens the first four of the seven seals, conjuring riders mounted on white, red, black and pale horses. Therefore, every act of this story refers to one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, along with its facets such as conquest, war, famine and death. I'm curious to read your thoughts on the conversance present in Sonic and Shadow's dynamic so far, considering their knowledge of the other is acquired through study, experience and instruction. They definitely get under one another's skin, huh? Act 2, also known as Red, is our next guest in this journey. Press alert to get a notification when it's out!
The songs mentioned in the story were compiled into a playlist called "Cowboy's Lounge: A Hog-Killin' Time," available on Spotify for streaming. Message me privately if you want a streaming link!
You can message me on Tumblr (self-titled blog) or on Twitter (sugarcunty) if you want to know more about my thoughts on these characters or just talk to me in private. As usual, favorites and reviews are highly welcomed. War is coming, so we'll meet again in Red. Until then, so long! XOXO, galsgeneration.