Chapter 7: In Which a Friend is Lost, But Another is Gained

“Non nobis solum nati sumus ortusque nostri partem patria vindicat, partem amici.”
"Not for us alone are we born; our country, our friends, have a share in us."
-Marcus Tullius Cicero, De Officiis

“S.T.E.E.L. number four: Once again, this is Close Call, Department Head, Department of Linguistics and Literary Studies, Stable 81, also Expeditionary Pro Tempore. The purpose of this, as well as preceding and proceeding entries, is to provide both objective and subjective insights into any civilization-or lack thereof-which may or may not remain in the aftermath of the Pony-Zebra War.
The situation out here (outside of Stable 81) is…rough. Before exiting my stable, one of the scenarios briefed to me was indeed the destruction of the world via megaspell warfare. I was told that in this situation to expect widespread ruin, a desolate landscape incapable of supporting life, with magical radiation choking the very air. I was told that if I did happen to encounter anything, pony or otherwise, I should expect nothing but a twisted, misshapen…thing, made feral by generations of inbreeding, radiation, and insanity. I almost wished that had been the case. Instead, I see normal ponies, at this point seemingly unaffected by the ambient radiation in the air, living in a land which does indeed support some life, but barely enough for a pony and their family to survive on. There is no ambition; no plans for the future, only doing whatever one can to survive the day. Those who do exhibit these traits do not last long; if it weren’t for my traveling companions, I am sure I would have succumbed much sooner than now. Those living in the Equestrian Wasteland are not soft. They do not trust one another; friendship is a rarity, and a fickle one at that. In a society which ponies are killed over mere bottlecaps, one can never know just what acts somepony is capable of. Life is short and brutal; there is no childhood anymore. Those lucky enough to live to see their cutie mark have most likely experienced much more in trial and tribulation than the oldest member of Stable 81.

Yet there is, unbelievably enough, a silver lining in this cloud-covered sky. Ponies in the Equestrian Wasteland are not soft, but they are survivors. The next day is never a guarantee, but it makes this day special. Life is short and friendship is rare, but it makes things that much more special because of it. Although I have only been out here a few weeks now, I suspect there is much more I shall learn. Perhaps beauty can be found here; if not in the land anymore, at least in the Ponies who live and work in it.”

* * *

“Close! Uh, uhm, ehe…I thought you ponies were going to do…the thing…” She spluttered.

“Are ya sure that wasn’t you?!” Sunny gasped, before collapsing into another fit of howling laughter.

I just sat there, eyes wide, mouth open, with only the slightest whimpering exhalations escaping my throat.

I, in a dirty, ruined bar situated in a dirty, ruined city, which itself was situated in this dirty, ruined world, had just witnessed my little sister trade tongues with another filly. My mind tried desperately to reset its synapses, attempting desperately to make sense of what was going on. In this effort it managed only to continue gawking, as well as searing the image permanently into my memory.

Sunny, of course, was still laughing. She did pause briefly to address the pegasus filly, though. “Holy shit, Mist Chaser, Butcher’s gonna kill you!” she giggled, “You too, probably.” She added in my direction.

“Shut the fuck up Sunny!” The filly, Mist Chaser, squealed, “What do you want? You’re not even allowed in here anymore, remember?” Parum, like me, remained glued to the wood floor, blushing so deeply a small part of my mind wondered if she was going to start burning a hole in it. I’m sure she would have found that preferable. “And what’s your fuckin’ deal?” The pegasus filly shot at me.

A few of my mental synapses began firing correctly again, and I was finally able to think clearly enough to answer. Mostly, anyway. “Uhm…well…” I began, before clearing my throat and starting over, “My name’s Close Call. My companions and I have stopped here en route to Sukawaka. You’ve already met Sunny, it seems-“ The two mares locked eyes, their faces morphing simultaneously into symmetrical glares, “-and you’ve also already…met…my sister.”

“Oh, so you found ‘im! I told you it wouldn’t be too hard, didn’t I?” The filly responded happily, giving my sister a playful punch in the arm. Parum, to her credit, managed to squeak out something that sounded like “Yeah, sure”

“Hey, I’ve gotta get back, but we should all get together after I close up shop. Can’t wait to hear all the family stories.” Mist Chaser explained, giving Parum a kiss on the cheek and a quick neck nuzzle before heading back to the bar. Parum, to her credit, did not, in fact, burst into flames as I had foreseen. “Nice to meet you, Close Call! Burn in hell, Sunny!” The pegasus cheerily called back to us. I waved; Sunny bristled.

* * *

“So she seems nice…” I offered, trying to break both the silence and the awkwardness, succeeding in only the former. We were on our way to the grocery store, which the good ponies of New Falmalla had chosen to house the closest thing they had to a government. According to the eminent and enigmatic Mist Chaser, they were the best chance we had of finding out what all we could do for Oya. By this point, Sunny had stopped snickering, offering only the occasional jab at Parum, who had finally returned to her regular lime-green hue, if not to her usual talkative self. I tried again. “So how did you two, erm, meet?”

“I was looking for you…” The filly said quietly. “And…well…we hit it off…I guess.” I couldn’t figure out which was stranger to me: the fact that my sister had a marefriend; the fact that the marefriend was, in fact, a mare; or that Parum Sororem was finally at a loss for words. I was leaning heavily toward the third option. No matter how today turned out, I was sure tonight was going to be…interesting. First, however, I needed to see if we could get Oya out of her current predicament.

The sign which once greeted potential shoppers to whatever grocer’s this was had been stripped away, both by the elements and the ponies of New Falmalla, and replaced with the words “Rules N’ Shit” in black paint. Charming. As we entered, we were greeted by more black paint, this time in an arrow on the floor. This, as well as subsequent arrows led us around the battery of empty shelves and to what had most likely been a customer service counter in times past. A few ponies milled about here and there, but our attention was on the three behind the counter. Two large, brutish-looking dark red earth pony mares flanked a frail pink unicorn stallion with glasses. As we approached, all three of them narrowed their eyes. I noticed that the earth ponies were, in fact, twins.

“Sunny, always a pleasure.” The unicorn said in a gruff voice, “What the fuck do you want?”

“A drink. Seeya!” Sunny replied simply before turning and walking away. I had no idea what had just happened, but judging by her reaction, I figured we would be better off without her. Sunny just seemed to have that effect on ponies.

“And you?” the unicorn shot at me, the two others staying silent for the moment. I’d prepared an eloquent opening statement for negotiations befit for a Princess, yet as I opened my mouth I found myself interrupted by the filly at my side.

“We want our fuckin’ friend back, that’s what the fuck we want!” She squealed in her child’s voice, “Since when are zebras sent to a fuckin’ slum?”

“Since always.” The earth pony on our right responded. Despite her mass, her voice was surprisingly…breathy? “In order to efficiently facilitate day-to-day activities, up to and including the protection of the city, the founders found it necessary to segregate the zebra population from the rest of us.”

The unicorn joined in again. “Yeah, so tough shit ya little guttersnipe!” She shouted at Parum, “What the fuck does it matter to you anyway? If you love the fuckin’ stripes so fuckin’ much, why don’t ya paint some on and go fuck around with them? If I get one more pony telling me-“ A red hoof prevented her from speaking anymore. The earth pony to our left, the hoof’s owner, spoke now.

“As we said, it is just how things are done. There is a friend of yours that is a zebra, correct?” She asked. I nodded, and she continued, “In New Falmalla, these laws are the only thing separating us from the barbaric masses of the rest of the Wasteland. We cannot change them, even if we want to.

“However, there are ways to…work around them. A citizen may request a pass for one of our zebra residents. In this instance, the zebra is allowed to freely move about the city, albeit only so long as the citizen holding their pass is with them.”

“So all we need to do is get one of those passes?” Parum piped up, “Well, let’s have one then! I mean, if it’s that simple-“
The unicorn freed himself from his partner’s hoof, leaping onto the counter so he could scream directly in my sister’s face, “It’s not that fucking simple! You three are vagrants, not citizens! Hell, if it wasn’t for you, Hellion, I’d have thrown all three of you out on principle for being in the same space as that brown, shiny fuck!”

“If you truly wish to help your friend,” One of the earth ponies interrupted (at this point, I lost track of which one was speaking), “You must truly help us. You are familiar with a certain pair of…irksome twins, correct?”

I sighed. I already knew where this was going. I nodded, “Yep. Let me guess, you want me to get rid of them, right?” The twins looked at each other, a troubled look briefly passed across their faces before they nodded.

“We do not care what you do with them: placate them, distract them…just make sure they cannot bother New Falmalla. Do this, and we will let your entire group have free reign of the entire city.” The right twin said with finality. We had our marching orders, and had been dismissed.

* * *

“Well isn’t that a load of shit…” Parum grumbled once we were outside. I couldn’t help but agree with her, but there wasn’t much else we could do. Not without garnering the violent affections of a small city, in any case. We moved through the crowds, me following Parum, Parum following her own agenda. New Falmalla may not have been that large area-wise, but it was packed! From my experience so far in the Equestrian Wasteland, I would never have expected to see this many ponies in one place! Not alive, at least. It was still nothing compared to the Whinnyapolis of the memory orb, but it was nonetheless a sight to see. A comforting sight, once a pony stopped to think about it. I couldn’t put my hoof on it, but this crowd, this…constant activity felt better to me than the stable ever had. So distracted was I, I almost forgot to ask just where we were going.

“Shouldn’t we tell Oya that it’s going to take a little bit to get her out of the slums?” The unicorn filly responded.

“I thought we weren’t allowed in there?”

“We are ponies. We can go wherever we please, even if we’re not citizens.” There was a bitterness in her voice I hadn’t heard before. Irritation, violence, anger, pain, sadness; all of these I had been present for her to experience at one point or another, but this was new.

“What’s bugging you?” I asked.

Parum stopped short, bristling. “What’s bugging me?” she hissed, “What’s bugging me? Close, does nothing ever get through that yellow head of yours? I thought you were supposed to be smarter than this!” I just gaped at her, as she continued, looking into the crowd, looking past them, her volume growing the longer she went on. “It’s been over two hundred years since the end of the Great War! The megaspells were cast and everybody lost. Pony, Zebra, Griffon, everybody! And this bullshit prewar propaganda-enforced institutional racism…there’s no point! There’s no Goddess-damned fucking point!” Parum whirled on me, and I had to take a step back, “Look at Oya! What’s so different about her? Her stripes? Her homeland? Hath not a Zebra eyes? Hath not a Zebra hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Pony is? If you cut us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die?” This final, accusatory note was shouted in my direction, and although it was directed to the city and this broken nation more than it was directed to me, it still struck me. It was a passage from an old Pony play, Merchant of Trottingham; a story about something mostly unrelated to the subject of the passage, but hotly debated on just which stance it took on the Zebra discrimination which had existed since long before ponies even knew of war.

“Parum…we’ll help her, don’t worry.” I told her. Once again, ponies were beginning to stop and stare at us, their faces belaying intentions other than friendship and/or magic. I meant it though; Zebra or not, predisposition to just go with the flow of postwar society or not, Oya was my friend, and I wasn’t going to stand idly by while my friends were treated like this. “Let’s go break the news…”

* * *

I never would have thought that another bombed-out, crumbling, rundown part of a bombed-out, crumbling, rundown city in a bombed-out, crumbling, rundown world could look more bombed-out, crumbling, and rundown. The Zebra Ghetto (I refused to call it a favela or sector or whatever-it was a ghetto, no fancy name was going to change that) was situated in an area what must have seen heavy conventional bombing, or something of that nature. The area’s buildings had been obliterated to little more than their foundations, and what was left looked to be about to crumble to dust at any moment. Pools of radioactive wastewater littered the pitted street, and more than a few structures bore splatters of deep red. Compared to this, the rest of New Falmalla was almost intact.

But the city’s zebras had made the best out of a terrible situation. Where the roofs and walls of homes or shops had collapsed, they had rebuilt them with what scrap they could find. They weren’t much, but they were enough to keep the rain out. The population density was much smaller here as well-unlike in the city proper, where one was literally running into ponies wherever they went, this was more along the lines of what I had grown accustomed to out here in the wastes. We looked around, but couldn’t spot our friend. In all honesty, it shouldn’t have been that hard, what with every zebra we looked at shying away and suddenly having urgent business elsewhere, as well as the assumption that Oya would do the opposite upon seeing us. “Why won’t any of them talk to us?” I wondered aloud in irritation.

“Well, if you’d been oppressed by a certain race your entire life, how would you react when they started asking questions? They don’t trust us, Close, no matter what we say.” My sister responded. I couldn’t help but agree, as depressing a fact as it was.
An idea struck me suddenly, and I stopped the next zebra that walked by. “Tu adjuves nos? Petimus ut amici.”
The zebra looked puzzled, but still answered. “Amicum an nomen?”

“Oya.”

“Numidis? Est populus eius cum ceteris quae parum sunt.”

“Tibi ago gratias!” I exclaimed happily, “Ut prolongentur dies tui, et tua noctibus jucundum!” The zebra just shrugged and walked off, leaving a smiling me and a confused Parum.

“Alright, I only understood about half of that. Maybe. What just happened?” she asked, following me tentatively as I started trotting further into the ghetto.

“He knew where Oya is!” I explained, “I asked if he’d seen her, and he told me where she would be. You were right, sis: these zebras have probably almost never had a kind word spoken to them in Pony. It’s amazing what speaking with someone in their own language’ll accomplish!”

“Oh! I never would’ve thought of that…So where are we going?”

“Oya’s people have their own area of the Favela; she should be there.”

“And where is that?”

“I have no idea!” I answered happily, “I’m just so damn glad they’re talking to me, I figure I’ll just keep asking around until I hit the right language!” Parum just sighed, muttering something about eggheads.

* * *

Dusk had fallen when we finally found a small shack, build entirely out of scrap. There was no door, only a thin cloth, and on each side of the frame were crude masks fashioned out of scrap metal. I had believed our search done already once I’d spoken to that zebra in his own tongue, and I’d been dead wrong. Parum’s words still hung true-after all they had faced since before even the war, most zebras instinctively distrusted ponies, no matter what language they spoke. It also didn’t help that my cowhili was nowhere near as proficient as my Roaman. Yet finally, after so many asked, and so many scraps of information pried from unwanting lips, these two ponies; strangers in their own land, were able to end their search for their lost friend.
The shack looked rickety enough without me banging on it, and one can’t really knock on a sheet, so after a few seconds of standing there like an idiot, I tentatively called out, “Je, una suruali?” I could hear movement inside, and a moment later the sheet ruffled, and I was met with a striped face and a golden stare.

“What do you want?” he asked gruffly.

“Oh, you speak Pony!” I smiled happy that I didn’t have to keep butchering someone else’s language, “We’re just looking for a friend of ours, and we were told she might be here. Her name’s Oya, have you seen her?” The words were barely out of my mouth before the zebra disappeared behind the curtain. I was sure if there had been a door, he would’ve slammed it in my face. From inside there came a shuffling, and the occasional whisper. A moment later, another striped visage poked its head out. “Oya!” I almost screamed,

“We finally found you! By the stars, you wouldn’t think it’d be so hard to find someone in such a small place-“
I tried walking in, but was stopped by a gentle, if firm, hoof. “I appreciate your concern for me, Close Call and Parum Sororem of Stable 81.” She explained, “But I am afraid I will not be joining you. My place is here.”
I was flabbergasted, enough that I found myself sitting hard on the broken concrete. “But…what about the twins?” I asked, “What about your family?”

My friend glanced into the shack before looking gravely back at me. “Sisi kufanya kile ambacho ni lazima kabla ya sisi kufanya nini tunataka. We do what we must before we may do what we wish, Close Call of Stable 81,” she said, “My family-my mother, my father, my sister…your twins took them, when I was but a filly. I have been searching for them ever since. This is why I joined you in the first place.”

“Oya…”

I was interrupted once again by that gentle hoof. “Long ago I gave up any thought that my family still lives. While I still desire to find out what happened to them…” she sighed, “There are zebras here who need my help more. Nearly all here were born here. They have no little education, little knowledge.”

“Oya, it’s the post-apocalypse. No one here has any education.”

“Do not mock me!” My friend shouted, advancing fully out of the shack and causing me to shuffle back awkwardly. Just like when we’d first met, the rage burned in her eyes, and her black-and-white coat bristled. “You know of what I speak! Do not tell me you haven’t seen what they have been put through, what they have been forced to endure! They have been tossed aside like garbage and left here to rot, for no reason other than the color of their coats-all for a war long over. You said so yourself: we are no closer to finding the ones who took my family, and it shall be a time before we can follow even the scantest of leads. Until then, there is more I can do here. I may not know much, but I know how to survive, which is more than I can say about my kinsmen here. Goodbye for now, Close Call and Parum Sororem of Stable 81. Muda mrefu siku mchana na usiku mazuri na wewe.”
With that, and a flap of rotted canvas, the first real friend I’d made in the Equestrian Wasteland was gone. Even if it was only temporary, it still hurt.

* * *

“So lemme get this straight: Butcher is your mother?”

The light blue pegasus smiled and nodded. “Yep! My own flesh and blood!” she responded happily, leaning over to nuzzle my (once again) petrified sister’s neck a nuzzle. The filly, Mist Chaser, had closed bar for the night, and by now even the most drunk of stragglers had cleared out. Now it was just me, Parum, Sunny, and Mist sitting around an empty table. There was an opened bottle of Stalliongrad’s Finest in the middle of the table, with only a few drinks taken from it. Parum had taken a shot as soon as we’d walked in, but had slowed down since. Mist Chaser was drinking steadily, but seemed to be able to handle her alcohol much better than any of us. I’d taken a shot after the run-in with Oya, but stars above, that stuff was harsh; I was starting to think that alcohol simply wasn’t for me. Sunny was cut off, apparently on the virtue of just being Sunny. We’d been here a few hours, with the young barpony filling us (well, mostly me) in on the ins and outs of New Falmalla. “That’s actually what helped me meet Li’l P over here.” She continued, “She came into town looking for you, so I asked Mom if she’d seen anypony. The rest is history.”

I looked at Parum as Mist Chaser took another drink. She looked toward the barpony as she levitated the bottle and took a swig, visibly calming. “And like I said, we just kinda…hit it off.” She said quietly, “Some ponies came by demanding protection money, and I took care of them. We got to talking over celebratory drinks, and…yeah.” I nodded, smiling a bit. I couldn’t help it-she was just so adorable when she was flustered. I glanced over at Sunny, who was eyeing the half-empty bottle of vodka longingly.

“You alright?” I asked, receiving a disgruntled snort in response.

“I’m sober in a bar, how in the good golly fuck do you think I’m doing?” She snapped back at me, never once taking her eyes off of the bottle.

Mist Chaser changed the subject while she moved the bottle closer to her and Parum. “So from what you’ve told me, you need to get rid of those twins to do, well, anything, right?” I nodded. “And in order to even start anything with the twins, you need money, right?” Again I nodded. Mist Chaser seemed to mull something over for a bit before speaking again. “Well it’s not much, but I might have something for you.

“Believe it or not, alcohol is kinda fucking hard to come by these days. And believe it or not, I need alcohol to make a living. One of the guys in charge of getting me my booze has decided to sell to one of my competitors instead. If you…talk to him, and convince him that his current path is a bad idea, I’ll comp you for half of his rate. Sound good?”
Now it was my turn to be uncomfortable. This sounded like a shakedown, and it didn’t sit right with me at all. It just felt…dirty. I voiced this opinion, and the pegasus shrugged. “Hey, it is what it is. You need caps, I need to not go out of business. ‘Quid pro quo’, as your Zebra friends would say. The only reason I’m even telling you this is because you’re Parum’s brother and you need help. So either do it, help your friend and yourselves, or don’t, and be in the same spot you are now.”

She had a point, one I couldn’t argue. I sighed, and to the disappointment of two ethereal ponies in my head, agreed. “Fine, where can I find this pony?” I asked.

Mist Chaser smiled. “Edge of the city, on the East side. Name’s Quick Charge. Earth pony with a stick of dynamite for a cutie mark. Should be easy enough to find. Any questions?”

“Just one:” I responded, turning to my dear sister, “I thought you said there wasn’t anypony in charge around here? We come in, and there’s an actual city council. What the hell?”

“They’re not so much in charge, but rather they try to keep us all from killing each other.” Mist Chaser answered for her, “We didn’t elect them, and there isn’t really any reason to listen to them, except…”

“Except what?”

Mist Chaser looked me dead in the eye and I almost recoiled. There was a seriousness in that look, and more than a touch of fear, one that was uncharacteristic to the pony I had grown to know in this short time. “Those twins? The two on the council? They’re calm and cool most of the time, but…”

I was beginning to grow impatient. “But what?”

“Catch ‘em at the wrong moment, and they’re fucking terrifying. I think they’re related to the twins you’re looking for.”

Level up!
Perk added: Finesse-You might not be a master of Hoof-Fu, but you do know what you’re doing. +10% to Critical Chance