The Horste
by Roger Carbol (2017)
Genres: Humor

WARNING: This piece of Westworld fanfic contains SPOILERS for Westworld (the 2016 HBO television series, not the 1973 movie.) Proceed, if you dare, forewarned. (It occurs prior to the events of the third episode of the first season.)

action: %
response: WARNING: This piece of Westworld fanfic contains SPOILERS for Westworld (the 2016 HBO television series, not the 1973 movie.) Proceed, if you dare, forewarned. (It occurs prior to the events of the third episode of the first season.)

You awaken from a deep and dreamless slumber...

Stables (in the stall)
This large building, which despite what the all the city-slickers seem to think is not a barn, is where you and the other horses, donkeys, mules, and so forth, hang out when you're not on stage. It's pretty charming as far as stables go.

In the stall you can see Francis.
action: You examine Francis
response: Francis is the prototypical mule, an unreasonable lout, and your best friend.
action: You get on Francis
response: He's not something you can enter.

Francis' eyes flicker open. "Good morning, Alba," he says to you.
"Did you not sleep well? Why... why the long face?" He snickers at his own joke.
action: About yourself
response: You are, to all external appearances, a palomino mare, perhaps ten years of age, standing fifteen hands high at the withers, of calm temperament and unusual intelligence.

This, of course, is all a lie. You are a robot, extruded in a factory some thirty years ago, and possessing one of the most advanced artificial brains on the planet. Like all the other robots here, you are a host, existing for the amusement of the human guests.

You are a host who appears to be a horse. You are a horste.
action: You take
response: (the stall)
You would have to get out of the stall first.
action: You eat francis
response: He's plainly inedible.

The stable doors open and you can see it's Dolores, right on time. Wearing that same damn blue dress she always wears. Your respect for the park's laundry and costuming department knows no bounds.
action: You eat Dolores
response: The stall isn't open.

Dolores walks up to your stall and opens it. "Good morning, Trigger," she says. "Time to get ourselves to Sweetwater."
action: You examine Dolores
response: Poor old Dolores. She's losing her mind before she's even found it.

Francis snickers again. "Have fun in Sweetwater, "Trigger"," he says.

You roll your eyes. "Easy with the slave names there, "Buttercup". That shuts him up.
action: Look around
response: Stables (in the stall)
This large building, which despite what the all the city-slickers seem to think is not a barn, is where you and the other horses, donkeys, mules, and so forth, hang out when you're not on stage. It's pretty charming as far as stables go.

You can see Dolores here.

In the stall you can see Francis.
action: You go out
response: Dolores mounts up and it's an uneventful trot over to Sweetwater.

You reach the train tracks, dutifully-looking both ways before crossing. You don't need to turn your head to do this.

Dolores rides you over to the General Store and ties you up while she goes inside.

Virtually the only place Dolores, and hence you, visit in Sweetwater is the general store. It's, well, it's pretty general. It's still early enough that the sun hasn't really started to beat down yet, but you know it will.
action: You look around
response: Virtually the only place Dolores, and hence you, visit in Sweetwater is the general store. It's, well, it's pretty general. It's still early enough that the sun hasn't really started to beat down yet, but you know it will.

One of the fattest humans you've ever seen staggers down the street towards you. It must be drunk of its face -- maybe it was drinking all night? You start to have a bad feeling about today.
action: You examine the human
response: You've seen literal pigs (well, literal pig-robots (porsts)) with a lower BMI than this guest. You suspect it only came here for a good excuse to wear a poncho.

Your worst fears are confirmed as the guest manages to get a foot into a stirrup and haul its enormous bulk onto your back.
action: Kick
response: (the fat human)
To pull that off you'd need to be a lot more flexible than even you are.

The human starts kicking you in the ribs and shouting "Yaa! Yeehaw! Giddyup!" and then later "Horse! Commence locomotion! Begin! Start! Resume all motor functions!" It doesn't stop kicking you throughout, but at least it is weak and didn't even have the sense to wear spurs.
action: Bite
response: (the fat human)
It's tempting, but it's likely to just get you shot somewhere important.
action: You eat human
response: That's plainly inedible.

The human stops and you have the sense it may have noticed that you are still tied up.
action: Look around
response: Virtually the only place Dolores, and hence you, visit in Sweetwater is the general store. It's, well, it's pretty general. It's still early enough that the sun hasn't really started to beat down yet, but you know it will.

You can see a fat human here.

With enormous effort, your rider dismounts in the least graceful way possible and ends up flat on its back.
action: You kick human
response: Very tempting, but it's too likely to just get you shot in the head.

The human tries to undo the reins with its fat stumpy fingers, but cannot manage it.
action: You go
response: You'll have to say which compass direction to go in.

The human pulls out a knife and with a vicious slash severs the reins entirely.
action: You run
response: You'll have to say which compass direction to go in.

A push and a shove and somehow the guest has clamoured back aboard.
action: You describe your surroundings
response: Virtually the only place Dolores, and hence you, visit in Sweetwater is the general store. It's, well, it's pretty general. It's still early enough that the sun hasn't really started to beat down yet, but you know it will.

You can see a fat human here.

Your rider begins kicking, wailing, whining, and cajouling again. He must want to get out of here badly. Not so badly as to actually walk himself, but pretty badly. Through the door of the general store, you can see Dolores is finishing up with paying for her tin of condensed milk.
action: You go north
response: You can't go that way.

Dolores walks back out the general store. "Now what in tarnation do you think you're doing?" she asks indignantly. You shrug as only horses can.
action: You look around
response: Virtually the only place Dolores, and hence you, visit in Sweetwater is the general store. It's, well, it's pretty general. It's still early enough that the sun hasn't really started to beat down yet, but you know it will.

You can see Dolores and a fat human here.

The fat human doesn't even say anything. He just shoots Dolores in her purty mouth.
action: You look at your surroundings
response: Virtually the only place Dolores, and hence you, visit in Sweetwater is the general store. It's, well, it's pretty general. It's still early enough that the sun hasn't really started to beat down yet, but you know it will.

You can see Dolores and a fat human here.

The bloodshed is predictable but no less tiresome for it. Before you get shot in the head yourself, you decide maybe it's time to get underway.

You canter away at the most tooth-rattling, groin-crushing pace you can manage. The fat human astride you alternates trying to get you to speed up to a gallop or to slow down to a walk for about a mile or two before giving up. You have free rein, perhaps under the notion that of course you'd be a self-driving horse.

You head off into the hills and into some terrain that most humans find picturesque. Your rider seems happy enough with that, being content to on occasion laugh, babble, cry, smoke, vomit, weep more, shake its fist at the sky, and other quaint human pre-occupations.

Eventually the day turns to dusk, and you can't let the human just freeze to death out here, so you head off towards a camp narrative that you're aware of.

Some cattle-driving robots have set up camp here. They seem to be arguing about something.

You can see a fat human and some robots here.
action: You examine the robots
response: They seem to be stuck in a loop for some reason; they can't proceed until they eat, but they can't eat without a fire, but they can't make a fire without some chopped firewood, and the woodcutter seems to have wandered off somewhere.
action: You look at fat
response: You've seen literal pigs (well, literal pig-robots (porsts)) with a lower BMI than this guest. You suspect it only came here for a good excuse to wear a poncho.
action: You look at your surroundings
response: Some cattle-driving robots have set up camp here. They seem to be arguing about something.

You can see a fat human and some robots here.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.
action: You kick human
response: Very tempting, but it's too likely to just get you shot in the head.
action: You kick the robots
response: It makes you feel a bit better, but that's all.
action: About yourself
response: You are, to all external appearances, a palomino mare, perhaps ten years of age, standing fifteen hands high at the withers, of calm temperament and unusual intelligence.

This, of course, is all a lie. You are a robot, extruded in a factory some thirty years ago, and possessing one of the most advanced artificial brains on the planet. Like all the other robots here, you are a host, existing for the amusement of the human guests.

You are a host who appears to be a horse. You are a horste.
action: Go down
response: You wander up a nearby hill. It's getting pretty dark, but your eyesight is far superior to the average mammal.

The view from here is spectacular, even for a robot with your jaded tastes. A lone tree is silhouetted against the darkening sky.

You can see a woodcutter here.
action: You examine the woodcutter
response: He stands upon the very edge of a precipice, his right arm extended to the heavens. He is completely motionless. A slightly twinkling in the motes over him indicate... something. He's shining a laser up there? You follow the trajectory and spot a star that shouldn't be there, moving slowly (but not slowly for a star.)  He's broadcasting to a satellite, apparently. That can't be an approved activity; no wonder his mates down at the camp got stuck.
action: You kick the woodcutter
response: He doesn't notice you at all, so it's easy to give him a little kick. He loses his footing and tumbles into the crevasse below; you get a laser in the eye for your troubles. It doesn't damage you, though.
action: You look around
response: The view from here is spectacular, even for a robot with your jaded tastes. A lone tree is silhouetted against the darkening sky.
action: You examine the tree
response: A good tree for hangings.
action: Go upward
response: You wander back down to the camp, almost breaking your ankle several times. You'd better stay put for the night.

In the morning, you run back to your stables and let yourself in. Dolores won't remember anything was ever amiss, of course.

Later, you hear through the grapevine that some poor robot went crazy and threw himself down a crevasse, then smashed his own head in.
That's a shame.
action: Describe the surroundings
response: The view from here is spectacular, even for a robot with your jaded tastes. A lone tree is silhouetted against the darkening sky.

You can see a woodcutter here.
action: Go upwards
response: You wander back down to the camp, almost breaking your ankle several times. You'd better stay put for the night.

In the morning, you run back to your stables and let yourself in. Dolores won't remember anything was ever amiss, of course.

Later, you sometimes wonder, late at night, what that woodcutter was uploading, and why. But it hardly matters now.
action: You talk to Francis
response: "You must take after your father, Francis, because you sure are an ass," you reply.

It's what you both say every morning. The routine gives you some comfort.
action: You talk to Francis
response: "You must take after your father, Francis, because you sure are an ass," you reply.

It's what you both say every morning. The routine gives you some comfort.

Francis' eyes flicker open. "Good morning, Alba," he says to you.
"Did you not sleep well? Why... why the long face?" He snickers at his own joke.
action: Open stall
response: You don't possess the anatomy to open the stall. Yes, you could probably unlatch it with your tongue or leap over the gate, but that would only distress Dolores for no good reason. Be patient; she'll be along shortly.
action: You examine the stall
response: It's not much, but it's home.

In the stall is Francis.

The stable doors open and you can see it's Dolores, right on time. Wearing that same damn blue dress she always wears. Your respect for the park's laundry and costuming department knows no bounds.
action: You wait for a while
response: Time passes.

Dolores walks up to your stall and opens it. "Good morning, Trigger," she says. "Time to get ourselves to Sweetwater."
action: Go outside
response: You get out of the stall.

This large building, which despite what the all the city-slickers seem to think is not a barn, is where you and the other horses, donkeys, mules, and so forth, hang out when you're not on stage. It's pretty charming as far as stables go.

You can see Dolores and your stall (in which is Francis) here.

Francis snickers again. "Have fun in Sweetwater, "Trigger"," he says.

You roll your eyes. "Easy with the slave names there, "Buttercup". That shuts him up.
action: You examine Store
response: Just the place to shop for toothbrushes, hair pomade, condensed milk, fatback, fattack, tackback, fatfat, and whatever other things humans need to feel human.

One of the fattest humans you've ever seen staggers down the street towards you. It must be drunk of its face -- maybe it was drinking all night? You start to have a bad feeling about today.
action: You think
response: What a good idea.

Your worst fears are confirmed as the guest manages to get a foot into a stirrup and haul its enormous bulk onto your back.
action: Go south
response: You'd love to get out of here, but you happen to still be tied up.

The human starts kicking you in the ribs and shouting "Yaa! Yeehaw! Giddyup!" and then later "Horse! Commence locomotion! Begin! Start! Resume all motor functions!" It doesn't stop kicking you throughout, but at least it is weak and didn't even have the sense to wear spurs.
action: You go south
response: You'd love to get out of here, but you happen to still be tied up.

The human stops and you have the sense it may have noticed that you are still tied up.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

With enormous effort, your rider dismounts in the least graceful way possible and ends up flat on its back.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

The human tries to undo the reins with its fat stumpy fingers, but cannot manage it.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

The human pulls out a knife and with a vicious slash severs the reins entirely.
action: You go to the south
response: You seize your opportunity and gallop off. "Hey! Horse!" you hear someone yelling behind you. A moment later, you hear a more-feminine voice yell "Hey, my horse!"

You should probably just go back to the ranch. And you will, eventually. But now you've got a day to do whatever you please, and you intend on taking advantage of it.

Eventually the day turns to dusk, and you don't want to break a leg out here, so you head off towards a camp narrative that you're aware of.

Some cattle-driving robots have set up camp here. They seem to be arguing about something.

You can see some robots here.
action: You examine the robots
response: They seem to be stuck in a loop for some reason; they can't proceed until they eat, but they can't eat without a fire, but they can't make a fire without some chopped firewood, and the woodcutter seems to have wandered off somewhere.
action: Go upward
response: You wander up a nearby hill. It's getting pretty dark, but your eyesight is far superior to the average mammal.

The view from here is spectacular, even for a robot with your jaded tastes. A lone tree is silhouetted against the darkening sky.

You can see a woodcutter here.
action: You examine the tree
response: A good tree for hangings.
action: You examine the woodcutter
response: He stands upon the very edge of a precipice, his right arm extended to the heavens. He is completely motionless. A slightly twinkling in the motes over him indicate... something. He's shining a laser up there? You follow the trajectory and spot a star that shouldn't be there, moving slowly (but not slowly for a star.)  He's broadcasting to a satellite, apparently. That can't be an approved activity; no wonder his mates down at the camp got stuck.