Looking Out a Dirty Old Window

Unfortunately, for a sizable population of people who lived within and beneath the Black Keep, and in particular for a certain donkey, the Coachman was quite capable of moving much more quietly than his great size, and heavy boots, would suggest. As Tate was furtively making his way down the stairs, the object of his greatest fears was slowly, silently, making his way up. As he passed between the scattered lanterns doing their best to illuminate the dark fortress, his eyes would seem to glow with their own faint, green glow in the shadows.

Whether by sheer coincidence, or whether he somehow knew Tate was trying to hide something, it was anybody's guess. But, whatever the case, his timing was perfect, as he rounded a corner just as the little donkey was distracted by pity, and stopped paying enough attention to his surroundings to keep from bumping into him, and not realizing just who he'd run into at first.

If Tate were to turn around, and fail to look up, he'd be met by an all too familiar pair of big, black boots, and long, red coat, wrapped around a massive frame. The Coachman stood with his hands, balled into fists, resting on his ample waist as he glowered down at the small donkey, and the evidence of what he'd been so desperate to hide, sitting right beside him. he shook his head in disapproval. "Only bad little boys tell lies. Do you know what happens to bad little boys here?" he demanded, bending down to better fix Tate with a scowl.

Bruno wished so badly that he wasn't awake.

While Tate struggled with wetting the bed, the older boy's mind was plagued with night terrors. No matter how sweet and pleasant his dreams started, it would always curdle into the same nightmare by the end. In his mind's eye, he would be with his parents, or with Vinny, or even classmates who would fawn at his feet. But just when he was at his happiest, he'd start losing his hands, his skin, his autonomy -- before waking up to remember it wasn't a dream. As badly as he didn't want to believe it was true, the boy was living proof of consequence.

He had already been jolted out of his sleep when he heard the door to their sleeping quarters click shut. One could hardly call it a "bedroom" -- it was a cramped, closet-sized room with one mattress that took up more than half of the floor space. Though Bruno was aware of Tate's little problem, he didn't understand how bad it had gotten until he felt the sheet being pulled out from underneath him. At first, he had decided to stay put. It wasn't his problem, after all.

But the room was really dark and spooky on his own.

...And the mattress was more comfortable with the sheet.

Resigned, Bruno nudged his way out of the room and down the hall. His shoes made an uncomfortable plodding noise against the brimstone, echoing dully down the corridor. The sound caused him to wince, but the sensation was familiar. The fact that he couldn't actually get them off his hooves by himself was simply an unfortunate coincidence. His journey was somewhat aimless; in truth, he was already starting to forget why he set out in the first place. 

But a flash of red caught his eye -- and the voice that followed stopped Bruno dead in his tracks.

"Only bad little boys tell lies. Do you know what happens to bad little boys here?"

His first instincts told him to run. Turn tail and run right back to their quarters, back to the dark room, back to the bare bed. That's just what he would have done, too, had Tate's pleas not registered with him. That was all he needed to not only remember why he was out, but what he was doing.

The dark brown donkey broke into a run, shimmying in behind the Coachman and taking his stance in front of the cowering Tate. Fat old bastard, he thought as he looked the intimidating figure down, not realizing he was sneering as he did so. His head was somewhat clouded with sleepiness, but Bruno was determined to get away from the bad man with haste.

"Tate! There you are!" He nudged a dry part of the sheet with his taupe snout. "You were jus' gettin' that into the wash for us, right?"

Tate screamed, jumping up slightly at the Coachman's threat. His ears flattened against his skull and he let out a few whimpers. He didn't want to go in the cellar and as uncomfortable as his quarters were it was better than sleeping in the dungeon with those mangled animalistic creatures Maleficent kept around as servants. They were mean to him, bit at him, snarled at him. So sleeping in the basement with them would have given him worse nightmares than he already had sleeping in his little closet.

"N-no sir," he mewed, bowing his head, trying to be respectful, "I just...I..." His ears drooped and he let out a small sigh. He shuffled his hooves in the sheets. Good boys told the truth no matter how scary (or embarrassing) it was. He looked up with large blue eyes.

"I...uh...I wet the bed," he mumbled, "I didn't mean to, honest sir. It's just so scary here and I..." Realizing he'd probably said too much, he bit his lower lip and awaited the reign of cruelty the coachman probably was going to throw at him.