Vampire27: переводы

→“Come closer,” Velvet said in response. “Let me hold you.”

→“Bucklyn Cross.” I winced. “Ah’ve tried t’ make peace with it, but…”

→“What’s wrong, love?” Velvet asked gently. “What’s eating you?”

→I remembered what I had heard Calamity mutter to himself as we entered Stable Two: Ah gotta be strong fer them. Not go crazy. Ah can’t jus’ charge in an’ kill every armored bitch Ah see. Ah need t’ be strong. Need t’ watch fer them. Need t’ protect ‘em. Ah c’n do this.”

→“Ah… I don’t think Ah could take this anymore without ya,” Calamity told her. “Ah’m strugglin’ here, Velvet. It feels like all muh friends are fallin’ apart, and Ah’m tryin’ t’ be the strong one. But Ah ain’t doin’ so good.”

→“But…” I turned back at the mirror. To the shot up, bleeding, dying Littlepip in cobbled-together, gore-stained raider armor, barely standing as she faced down her next kill, Little Macintosh floating in front of her, pointing upward. “…but this is my soul. Isn’t it?”

→I wanted to believe her so badly that I was trembling.

→“Ya find the good ones. Draw ‘em out. Clear the path an’ light the way,” Applejack smiled gently. “There’s a name fer that, y’know.”

→There were faint hints of pink in the room beyond. The effects were minimal, making me feel vaguely sick rather than the swift and cloying death that the concentrated pink we had experienced in the bath house. Still, we had to move swiftly. I prayed the alicorns weren’t keeping the prisoners in a contaminated section. If so, the zebras we were here to rescue were probably already dead.

→“The attempted assassination of Princess Celestia and the heroic death of Big Macintosh struck deeply at everypony. Amongst those affected the worst were those of us in Big Macintosh’s company. After the Battle of Shattered Hoof Ridge,” SteelHooves had told me, “Princess Luna ordered all the soldiers involved to be stationed closer to the heart of Equestria and away from the front lines for at least half a year. A reprieve from the war, combined with the offer of counseling.” His assignment had been in Zebratown, keeping the peace.

→I was able to encourage a young buck to speak with me in return for my discretion regarding a transaction between himself and several foals wherein inhalers where exchanged for bits. Not only do I have a possibly more accurate description of the store’s locale, but the buck divulged a few slippery tenets of the striped’s mindset regarding Princess Luna. For example, according to zebra folklore, the Princess Luna’s madness and “depths of evil” could only be explained by (and he said this in a derisive tone, clearly scoffing at such superstitions) “external forces”.

→My efforts to find the little shop that sells zebra ceremonial masks have again been thwarted by a combination of obscure local and conflicting directions. To an extent, I can understand and forgive the zebras for the aggravation. Any business steeped in the heritage of their native land would increase the negative perception of Equestrian zebras and likely become a magnet for attacks like the one yesterday.

→When I questioned whether the contraband was related to the increasing number of Dash-related incidents, the constable abruptly denied any connection between Zebratown and the local drug problem, proclaiming the influx of Dash was almost certainly coming from someone associated with the nearby veterinary pharmaceuticals company.

→I spent most of the evening with the local constabulary, repeating endlessly my account of events. I attempted to use the opportunity to learn more about the zebra prisoner they have sealed in isolation, my efforts at gaining an actual audience having come to naught. This evening, one of the zebra constables deigned to inform me that the prisoner was charged with smuggling contraband into Equestria as well as another charge that I believe can best be translated as “heresy.”

→We charged blindly inside, SteelHooves hiding a proximity mine on the backside of the terminal before closing the door behind us and plunging us into darkness.

→Upon leaving the bath house, I noticed several zebra colts quickly attempting to hide an inhaler, looking for all the land like they had been caught by their parents reading an issue of Wingboner Magazine. I am hardly a pony to know about such things, but I suspect they were using illegal zebra-imported pharmaceuticals. Perhaps the constables need to be keeping a better watch.

→And on the matter of irrational fears, I found myself the subject of just such sentiments when a zebra mother screamed and pulled her foal from the bath (and soon the bath house entirely) upon the mere sight of me. When I endeavored to determine what I had done to provoke this rather extreme response, most of the zebras would not meet my eyes out of embarrassment. One finally explained, her face reddened with shame, that the mark of the three streaking meteors on my flank was the source of the zebra’s terror. It would appear that the myths of the zebras have such a hold on the psyche of some that my cutie mark alone is cause for such reaction.

→I was astonished to discover there were ponies living in Zebratown. Only a hoof-full, I am told, but there are ponies who have chosen to live their lives in this place. On purpose. I had the opportunity to converse with one such pony at the bath house, a delightful peasant mare named Daisy. It is Daisy’s assertion that she chose to live here because the zebras need to be reminded that not all ponies are, in her words, “xenophobic bigots.”

→Today, I availed myself of one of the more unique buildings in Zebratown. The zebras have made an interesting effort to blend their cultural heritage with a more proper Equestrian aesthetic. One of the results is the (in)famous bath houses of Zebratown. Water is piped in from the aqueduct, and several of the pools are boiler-heated. Patrons move between hot baths and cool as they mingle and discuss the matters of the day, or enjoy a poolside brunch at the provided tables. As utterly uncouth as bathing publicly is, I must admit that the experience provided by these bath houses is luxurious, both physically and socially.

→“Next zombie zebra gets a missile up its kisser,” SteelHooves grumbled. I had gleaned that the battle in the pool had been frustrating, his armor refusing to allow him to fire his weapons underwater. The mental picture of two creatures who could not die from anything less than massive bodily harm being reduced to throwing hooves at each other underwater struck me as darkly amusing. I didn’t think SteelHooves would appreciate it if I snickered.